


The Spirit of Christmas

by tourdefierce



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Crack, Dirty Talk, Explicit Language, Fluff, Holidays, Intoxication, M/M, Religious Content, Sex Magic, Unsafe Sex, bottom!Arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-07
Updated: 2012-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-29 03:14:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/315194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tourdefierce/pseuds/tourdefierce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the story about how Arthur the Elf got his groove back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Spirit of Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for fluffssnowflake, who prompted: _a reluctant adult Arthur has to sit on Father Christmas’ lap_. I'm so pleased that I got the opportunity to write for merlin-holidays this year as a pinch hitter and that the mods here are very patient people because I'm one of those people who always ask for an extension. A huge thanks to leashy_bebes, my beautiful beta and cheerleader. Without the help of samsamtastic, I wouldn't have finished this, either and so I am forever grateful for her existence.

It wasn't that Arthur didn't believe in Father Christmas.

That wasn't it at all.

However, to say that the season was trying his patience also fell short.

"Mr. Pendragon, it's _London_! London is properly London," a particularly clueless individual moaned across the line.

"I'm aware of your location, Elf."

"Then you'll understand that it's not yet—"

Arthur sighed. He really did not have time for this. "I lived in London my entire life, until I was promoted to run the toy plant in America three years ago. I understand that London is London, I can really see why you're still so far up the corporate ladder with such stunning observation skills. But in the five years I ran that plant, it was never off schedule and the elves that worked there were so full of cheer that they _cried tears of red and green glitter_. So you'll have to excuse me if I don't take 'London being London' as a sufficient excuse."

He paused for a breath, swivelling his chair around to face his computer properly. "If your quotas aren't made up in the next three days, I will _do something about it_ , Mr. Valiant and it will be more than just making damn sure your name gets moved to the Naughty list."

He rang off and immediately went to rub at his eyes.

Where was he?

Right.

It wasn't that he didn't believe in Father Christmas, it was just that Halloween had just ended and he had to put up with Morgana, who was supposed to be his _elfin_ sister but ran around with enough ghouls and demons that it was literally like being related to Halloween itself—seriously, she was dating Satan's sister—and just, The Spirit of Christmas felt so far away at times like these.

Usually, it was the Spring months that got Elves down, with the rush of Christmas ending so abruptly and the thought of summer leaving them all in foul moods. But Arthur generally enjoyed the small vacation February allowed, letting the harmless Cherubs run the season with ease before he was back on March 1st, planning out the next Christmas season.

For Arthur, it was the muddy days of October and the first few weeks of November that really rubbed him the wrong way. Maybe it was because he spent way too much time in America, where they did indeed have another holiday to deal with before Christmas. (And if Arthur had to be involved in one more Turkey Protest negotiation, he was going to slay them all himself.) However, when Arthur ran the London toy factory, Christmas cheer was in excess and even though, yes, it was bloody London, there was still that hidden thrill of excitement that rang through everything and everyone.

The Christmas Spirit.

Nowadays, though, it felt thin.

If he really examined it, there might be a bit of him that missed London desperately. It wasn't that New York wasn't lovely at Christmas, but it just wasn't the same. Honestly? It was too easy. Most Americans took a shine to Christmas and the elves in the factory worked diligently all through November, barely even stopping for Thanksgiving celebrations, before throwing themselves into December's rush. But the _thrill_ and the _challenge_ of London was lacking here. About this time in London, Arthur would be holding high-powered meetings with Harrods and bickering bitterly over their window displays. He'd be bribing grumpy store owners to put up fairy lights earlier and earlier until the whole of London was humming on November 1st with the subtle under-current of _Christmas_. Tasteful and subtle but ultimately still there by Arthur's hand. The stiff-upper lip of London's finest Christmas Scrooges were the best challenge of the Christmas season and an honour to take on as an elf—and frankly, Arthur missed it.

Here, he took one withering look at Macy's human executive and he crumbled, giving into all of Arthur's demands and practically begging for Arthur to bend him over right there.

It was embarrassing.

"Sir?"

Arthur blinked and brought himself back to the present. The calendar read November 2nd, he was still in America and running one of the largest, most successful toy factories in the entire world. He was the best elf Christmas had ever seen and he was proud. Hell, he should be grateful.

"Yes, Leon?"

There was a cough. "Your father—"

"Leon, we're still calling him Lord Pendragon, if you've forgotten," Arthur interrupted but with little heart. It was not a secret that Leon, a Reindeer farmer that Arthur had wooed away with pound signs and Italian leather, wasn't a fan of Arthur's father.

He blamed Lord Uther Pendragon for Arthur's unhappiness, and although he wasn't completely wrong, Arthur took responsibilities for his own decisions. Bloody fishwife.

"Very well, sir. _Lord_ Pendragon has had that evil little prick of a secretary," Leon's flat tone came across pretty scathing.

"I believe Geoffrey prefers Personal Assistant."

"He's a twat, sir."

"You were saying?" Arthur fought back a smile. If there was a thing that brought his humour up, it was Leon's dry voice barking across the line. He sounded like the PA of a high-powered executive but he looked like a reindeer farmer stuffed into a suit. Seriously, lumberjacks cowered in the face of his beard last Arbor Day.

"Lord Pendragon has scheduled a lunch for the two of you tomorrow and I've had to reschedule the meeting with the Fairy Union, which they were really pleased about by and by, for next Tuesday."

Dammit. It usually didn't bother him that his father took the liberty to rearrange his schedule whenever he was in the city, being a jet-setting elf himself, but the Fairy Union wasn't a group to be trifled with. Last time there was an issue, Arthur had to deal with no less than four and half sex scandals, a shortage of mistletoe and a rash that Arthur and Leon had come to a mutual agreement never to speak of again. In short, Arthur was feeling perturbed.

"The Fairy Union will just have to cope," Arthur sighed. "Send them a Lightning Bug Basket or something."

"Because lightning bugs are easy to find at this time of year," Leon muttered. "I'll take care of it and the updates will be sent to your Blackberry at the usual time. I'm going to have to do some rearranging."

"There's nothing for it. Is there anything else, Leon?"

Arthur swore he heard a snort. "Nothing that can't keep, sir. Although, we'll need to deal with the Secret Santa gift exchange."

"Hmm," Arthur hummed as Leon rang off.

Secret Santa, indeed.

<3<3<3

Arthur's flat—er, apartment—was a glorified office. Yes, he'd been there a few years but after his Uncle Agravaine had well and truly run the American factories into the ground, Arthur had been doing some major rebuilding, leaving little room for creature comforts. His apartment was an open plan, new and shiny, with modern appliances and pretty much everything anyone would desire if they were young, successful and rolling in coin.

Arthur loathed it.

"This is properly fucked," he cursed at the telly. His satellite feed was wonky and the universe was well mistaken if it thought he was going to miss the friendly between England and Spain today. Torres might be a pretty vampire but half the squad called up was Elfin today.

He was going to give up and walk down to the _horrible_ excuse for a pub (In its defence, they didn't call themselves a pub. It was a "sports bar".) when his telly chirped.

"Accept call," Arthur grumbled. The Skype icon bounced a few times before enlarging on the screen. It was blank for a few moments before Morgana's mug filled the screen.

"Brother dear," she said, smirk firmly attached to her lips. Arthur was almost positive that she hadn't stopped grinning like an evil villain since she came of age, realized she had Elfin magic and fucked off to play house with Sorceress Morgause (Satan's _sister_ ) and that Poltergeist, Nimeuh. "I thought you'd be watching the pre-match yammering."

Arthur scowled. "The satellite is being stubborn."

"Poor thing. Such a hardship."

"Did you have a reason for this call?"

She tucked a stray hair behind ear. "I just wanted to see how things were going, I hear Father is coming into town."

"Do I even want to know how you found that out?" Arthur said, hardly resisting rolling his eyes.

"Scrying isn't against the law, Arthur. Don't be such a spoilsport," she replied, rolling her eyes with vigour because she liked to act as if she was raised by humans. "Besides, Morgause has shared some news about Father Christmas, but if you're going to be such a bloody twat about it all—"

Arthur tried to quell his excitement but it was no use, he felt the excitement churn through him and before he knew it, he was a glowing faintly gold around the edges. He might not have Elfin magic like Morgana, but the Christmas spirit still managed to live inside him and _that_ was magic.

"Are you taking the piss?"

"No. Are you going to be nice to me?"

Arthur arched an eyebrow. "Are you going to stop trying to get on the Naughty List? You know how much it upsets Father."

"You like it."

"Morgana." Arthur did not whinge. "What did Morgause see?"

For the first time in a long time, Arthur saw Morgana's Christmas Spirit shine straight through her eyes. She was just as excited as he was and no matter how much she denied it, this was something so ingrained inside her that no matter what sort of devil worship she was involved in—Santa Claus was above that.

"She thinks they'll be opening up the North Pole in time for The 25 Days," she said with glee. "Arthur, can you imagine! We might get to see him, at least on the Elfin network and oh, Arthur! I bet he's lovely. They've been in choosing for _so long_."

Arthur let out his own hysterical laughter. Gods. The North Pole had been closed since February 1st, when the previous Father Christmas had stepped down, claiming that earlier that morning, the Sleigh Bells hadn't rung for him and his time as Father Christmas was over. There had been a mad clamour around the community because he had only been ruling for ten years.

The last Father Christmas had ruled for five hundred.

"There were rumours that they'd chosen back in August," Arthur replied, mind wandering.

"I know and I think they might have. I have a friend who was working out of the South Pole, really strong with Elfin magic, and he was called up to the North Pole in September. I haven't heard from him since, which makes me think that they've got everyone on lock-down for a reason. He wouldn't have been called up for the choosing, he's not that strong yet, but he was supposed to be working for the next Father Christmas."

Arthur frowned. "I thought you weren't speaking with Mordred anymore."

"He's twelve, Arthur. I'm not going to completely—"

"He tried to kill me!" Arthur exclaimed, leaning forward and trying to ignore the mantra of _Father Christmas_ that was playing on repeat in his mind.

"I would have too if I thought you were trying to perform an exorcism of my magic."

Arthur snorts. "Morgana, what twelve year old jumps to that conclusion? Seriously. I only asked him for a bloody biscuit."

"Whatever you may think of Mordred, and yes, I admit that he might be a bit of a freak but he's powerful," Morgana said with a bit of a smile. "Besides, you're just jealous because you've never been called to the North."

"Neither have you," Arthur said petulantly.

Because he was jealous, dammit, of anyone who got to go to the Pole. It was the only thing he had ever wanted—to go to the North Pole and work side by side with Father Christmas. It was the ultimate position for an elf. It was a life-long post, appointed only by Father Christmas himself and only the very best elves in the entire world were called up.

It was the chance of a lifetime.

"Wait," he said, looking at the calendar on his Blackberry. "The first of December?"

"Yes, little brother. So if you think you have a chance, you better sort it out, yeah? Morgause thinks it's going to be some sort of Elfin duel for twenty-five days but I think she's just being dramatic." She smirked as she said it, turning from excited about the prospect of a new Father Christmas to her regular infuriating self.

"Don't off yourself when you don't get called up," Morgana said mockingly. "He might just prefer elves that aren't full of themselves and just, you know, not general pillocks."

Arthur sneered. "Don't sell your soul to any demons for the chance to even _see_ him, you harpy."

"Fuck off."

"Bitch."

She rang off with a sneer that reminded him of his own.

The blank screen Morgana left suddenly buzzed to life with England running onto the pitch but Arthur couldn't be arsed—they could all be naked and pronouncing their desire to have an orgy with him and he wouldn't even notice.

Father Christmas.

 _Father Christmas_!

<3<3<3

The story goes like this:

Way up north, all the way up, up and away where baby seals and polar bears live, where it's too cold for anything but endless days of snow, there's a place that is more magical and special than anything in the whole wide world. It's a place where joy originates, where Christmas lives bright all year long and where the heart of the Spirit of Christmas glows bright gold.

The North Pole.

In the heart of all the snow, there is a stillness and in the belly of that stillness is a vast wonderland of toy factories. It is the biggest toy factory in the entire world, magical realms and human ones, where they make the best toys for all the good little boys and girls. It's a place only fairytales graze because it's too fantastical to truly describe.

When Arthur was a boy, his mother used to read the Polar Express to him in the warmth of his bedroom. It was a battered copy, the cover a frayed maroon cloth that smelled like musty books and his mother's hand lotion. Every night, she would ask him what story he wanted for bed and his hands always strayed to this book. A story about an ordinary boy who asked for the sleigh bells of Father Christmas and that long after the journey, long after the faded winter nights turned into the hazy summer days—after all that, he could still hear the Christmas Spirit, worn but sturdy, ringing in the bells.

The night Arthur failed to come alive with Elfin magic, she read him that story. Over and over again, she'd read it until her voice turned frail but her hands stayed steady in his hair because she loved him.

 _"Don't worry, child. You'll be called, no matter how little magic you have inside of you. I believe in you, Arthur. You're the best elf in the whole realm—the bravest, most beautiful elf that I've ever laid my eyes on. You'll be the heart of Christmas, someday, when Father Christmas needs you—and he will—he'll call for you and I will miss you terribly when you go but you'll be exactly where you belong. No matter what, my love."_

No matter what, she loved him.

The next morning, she was called to the North Pole.

Arthur didn't remember her leaving. He didn't remember the rows Uther had with her, screaming from the study or the way her blonde hair shimmered with Elfin gold when she left. He didn't remember the shattered months when she was gone. He didn't remember the funeral or how it felt when Geoffrey sat him down and told him that his mother, Ygraine, wasn't coming home at all.

He only remembered pressing the book to his face, breathing in the lingering scent of his mother and sobbing—wishing desperately that he had gone with her.

The story goes like this:

Arthur believed with all his will that he belonged in North Pole, just like his mother, and no matter how old he got, no matter how crazy it sounded coming out of his mouth, no matter how illogical it was... he still hoped. That eternal light that his mother had fostered in the best five years of Arthur's life—that light was made for the North Pole.

No matter what.

It was his destiny. He was sure of it.

<3<3<3

Arthur was positive that a trip to the dentist was in order now that he'd ground his teeth all the way through lunch. It wasn't anything particularly new. His father had a habit of ignoring Arthur's other obligations when he came to America and it wasn't for anything important, other than to do his usual lectures about how Arthur was _too sophisticated_ for the North Pole and didn't he know? The future of elves were based in Pendragon Toy Factories and someday, when Uther retired, it was going to be Arthur's job to take over the company that would be known as the company that put Father Christmas out of business.

Just another lunch spent having his hopes and dreams crushed.

No big deal.

Afterwards, his father strode to the car with a jaunty little wave that made Arthur want to stay at the Italian bistro they lunched at and drink his company's worth in wine. Instead, he tipped the waiter more than he should and walked back to the office with his hands stuffed deep inside his pockets. He'd forgotten his gloves on the table but he couldn't be arsed to go back to retrieve them.

When he got back to the office, Leon was holding two cups in his hands.

"Coffee or tea?"

Arthur squinted. "Will you judge me if I say whiskey?"

"You should just go home."

"I can't, Leon. That report is due in and we haven't even talked about Hanukkah yet."

Leon glared over the two cups, pursing his lips in such a fashion that they disappeared into the bristles of his bushy beard and made it so that Arthur was positive that he was indeed, going home.

"Arthur, we'll start on all eight of Hanukkah's crazy nights as soon as I learn how to spell it. Every year, it's a problem and I need to make myself feel better about my dismal spelling skills before we start on a part of the holiday season that lowers myself esteem," he said with a sternness that meant that Arthur should just give in already.

Instead he said, "It has two 'k's in it," and walked into his office.

"You are by far the worst elf I have ever met," Leon said soundly from the doorway. "Now please go home because I'm about one more Pendragon daddy-issue argument away from leaving you for my reindeers."

Arthur paused in sitting. God, he really could use a bit of telly and an early night in. Maybe a take-away.

"I think I'll head home."

"Good idea."

"Right."

He didn't walk home because the car was already pulled up in front of the building when he got there. The fact of the matter was, Leon was most likely going to be there until seven that night, making sure that everything Arthur skipped out on would still keep. He was actually insanely competent and despite his feisty demeanour, he was the best personal assistant Arthur had ever met. What he was doing herding reindeer for the majority of his life, and enjoying it, was beyond Arthur. He was far more useful to the world here, by Arthur's side.

At least, that's what Arthur told himself. The thought of Leon actually chasing down such enormous deer was incredibly frightening. (Lumberjack beard or not, some mental images are just too extreme.)

Arthur was installed in the couch before half three and in a blissful telly coma by the time the clock struck four.

<3<3<3

November passed.

Arthur spent most of his time on the phone, making sure all the toy factories in America were making the proper quota for actual toys being produced and Christmas Spirit levels were high. As always, it was an uphill battle. (Arthur blamed the excess of turkey in the country.) By the time Thanksgiving arrived, Arthur was more concerned with just how many elves insisted on having the Friday after off. After no less than four rows with Leon (complete with cold coffee and terse emails), he finally gave in because the power of Black Friday was enough to make Leon actually shout two days before the holiday, instead of just growling mutinously from his post. Why the country couldn't just behave and have Boxing Day sales was beyond him. But that was no matter, he made it out of the Friday after Thanksgiving with minimal disasters, only one minor catastrophe with a Santa who wasn't actually supposed to be out on patrol yet (some shopping centres really needed better background checks) and even managed not to stab the Internet when Cyber Monday dawned bright and early.

It was business as usual.

Except, if Arthur was being completely honest with himself, he was feeling a bit... different.

Yes, Thanksgiving was the most ridiculous holiday to have to slog through, given that he couldn't understand why any country would celebrate the beginning of what would become one hell of a genocide—but that was neither here nor there. Something about _him_ was different.

During the day, he was less prone to bouts of insanity and that was something worth noting. But the extent of his holiday cheer was very high and didn't seem to be dissuaded by the threat of strike from the Snowmen (and women) or the frantic blinking of the fairy lights Leon insisted promoted a less hostile working environment. Even Morgana's thinly veiled clues about Father Christmas couldn't manage to break his cheer, which was incredibly odd.

Not to mention the dreams.

For the past few weeks, Arthur had been woken every morning feeling warm and golden, the feeling of crushed velvet on his skin lingering on the edge of his mind and his cock curling against his belly, having already broken free of his boxers and leaking all over his sheets. It certainly wasn't a wet dream, but it was reoccurring, the same glowing warmth of velvet on his skin that had him coming into his fist half a dozen strokes after waking. It wasn't unpleasant by any means but it was unsettling.

"Did you do anything for Thanksgiving, Leon?"

Leon glared over his thermos of coffee. "I'm Canadian."

"Ah."

"Yes, Arthur. Now, everything is squared away with the Secret Santa for each of the factories and all the holiday parties are scattered up until the 20th of December."

Arthur nodded and signed his name to a few documents, handing them back to Leon. "And the on-call situation?"

"I'm fairly sure it's going to work out," he said. "All the schedules have been sent out and all 50 factories are due to report back before the first with any changes, just in case I've messed up which elf from Wisconsin is Jewish and which one celebrates Kwanza."

"Wonderful," Arthur replied, dreading the first, when all the corrections would pile through and how the days following would be full of endless names and forty tabs open trying to remember when each holiday fell. Leon still had trouble remembering if Christmas was the 24th or the 25th of December.

"Now, it's five and I've got plans for the evening that involve a bottle of wine and a bucket of ice cream. So, the only thing left is this." Leon leant down and pointed to a small marker on Arthur's desk calendar.

When Arthur clicked on it, a little bubble showed up with bright red lettering: **8pm Living Room**.

"I have a meeting in my living room?"

Leon shrugged. "At eight this evening it seems. I tried to find out when it had been booked but I can't find any trace of when or why I pencilled it in."

"Leon--"

"Don't get mad at me! I even tried to delete it but it won't budge. Seems like whatever it is, it's meant to be happening. So do try and be dressed, just in case. I don't really feel like dealing with the fall out of you showing up to a meeting without your pants."

Arthur blinked. "You know, it's still difficult to get used to pants meaning trousers around here. That sentence has a whole other meaning..."

"I'm not listening to this conversation anymore."

With a smile and a wave, Leon was out the door to do whatever it was that he did.

"Right then," Arthur whispered, turning off his computer and then the lights. He grabbed his laptop bag and took the stairs down to the car.

<3<3<3

Dinner was a pasta bake, which was followed by a bottle of wine and two episodes of Gavin and Stacey (reruns, but not the Christmas special, he was saving that bit). But as the clock ticked closer to eight, Arthur began to feel that warmth in the pit of his stomach. It was similar to the kind he felt in the morning but the arousal was taken out of it—it was only that slow, warm glow, like he had eaten a biscuit fresh out of the oven or indulged in piping hot mead.

Not only that, but by half-seven, Arthur was glowing.

Supposedly, only elves that posses magic could glow but ever since Arthur was found to have almost zero traces of magic in his blood, he's always glowed that shimmering gold when he was excited, or aroused or when something affected his Christmas Spirit. His mother had glowed all the time, not blinding, but her skin seemed to shimmer whenever the light hit her in the right way. (Arthur did remember the one time he'd made the mistake of letting his magic glow in front of Uther. The clear pain over his father's face was not something Arthur was likely to forget.)

And so it was, Uther Pendragon, the only elf in the world who hated magic—who blamed magic for killing his beautiful wife by making her leave—would have a son who glowed only some of the time. Uther hated magic for a very simple reason: magic killed his wife. Beautiful Ygraine was killed by a twist of fate on her way to the North Pole but Uther saw magic as the driving reason, as if magic itself caused her ankle to twist and her heel to get caught, pulling her in front of the most powerful train ever invented. From his perspective, she would have been home with him and his magic-free son if she hadn't had magic... if she hadn't been _called_. But she was called or rather, the light inside of her was called and she obeyed it, as she had dreamed that Arthur too would be called North.

Arthur stared at his hands, the shimmering gold of his fingers kept catching on his thumb ring. His heart thudded in his chest, as if it was trying to break free, his breath came in short, staccato beats that swelled in his ears until that was all he could hear. He vaguely thought he should get changed, maybe into something he hadn't worn all day, but he couldn't move. He seemed paralysed with the overwhelming thought that this might be it. This might be the moment that everyone talks about, when the light inside wakes up and demands to be taken.

He tried to calm his breathing, however he only seemed successful at gripping the arm of his sofa until his knuckles turned white.

That's when he heard very disturbing sounds coming from his faux fireplace.

When Arthur had let the apartment, his realtor had boasted about how the developer had kept the original chimney from the old building but that they had blocked it off so that it wouldn't leak heat. Apparently it was terribly trendy to have such a fireplace.

Right now? It was ruining Arthur's life.

He heard the muted struggle of someone who sounded like they were trying to squeeze into jeans two sizes too small. Not that Arthur could really hear more than the occasional curse and the way the wall seemed to bulge with his struggle.

"Um, hello?"

There was another muted curse and what sounded like a swift kick. The plaster of Arthur's wall trembled.

"I," Arthur started before he got up and forced himself to walk on coltish legs toward the fireplace. "I have a sky-light in the toilet."

There was a shout and then nothing.

Arthur jogged to the bathroom, tripping over his feet on the way there and barely managing to keep himself upright with the doorjamb.

When he arrived, his normally spacious toilet was dwarfed by a man so massive that he looked like Godzilla getting ready to crush the world beneath him.

"Who are you?" Because Arthur was now doubting his decision not to call the police. The man was colossal.

"Oh! Sorry, mate," said the behemoth of a man, who was definitely English, although from a place riddled with Council flats and cans of Strongbow. "Those dodgy chimneys are a real 'mare. Gwaine was supposed to make a scout of it and all but he's not done celebrating—been into the mead all week long. Fond of Thanksgivin' isn't he?"

"What?"

Arthur was a little distracted by the sheer girth of the man's arms or the particular roundness of his head. He looked like a Greek god, all tanned and rippling muscles, and there was something particularly unsettling about the breadth of his shoulders (not to mention Arthur's fleeting but clearly inappropriate thoughts about resting his thighs there) but the man wasn't dressed in any traditional dress that Arthur recognised. This man didn't look like an elf. He looked like an attractive troll. He was dressed in a dark grey t-shirt and dirty jeans. Although, the filthy jeans might have been the fault of the chimney.

"Sorry," the man said, grinning a little sheepishly and extending his hand toward Arthur. "Me name's Percy, innit?"

Arthur took his hand gingerly, but Percy just shook it hard and fast, practically pumping it up and down so swiftly that Arthur could already feel the soreness in his shoulder.

"Arthur Pendragon," Arthur replied in turn after Percy had let go of his hand.

"I would sure hope so! If not, I'd doing a regular ol' B&E and I can't imagine Merlin would be a big fan of that, not after last time."

Arthur felt his head spin. "Last time?"

"Never mind that," Percy said with a wink. "I've got a letter to be deliverin' to ya and then I best be on my way."

Arthur blinked and felt something inside him twist. "You could have just dropped it into the letter box."

"Not this, mate. Sensitive, innit?"

Then he stuck his gargantuan hand into his pocket and retrieved an implausibly pristine letter, holding it out to Arthur and wiggling his eyebrows. Distantly, Arthur thought that this man, no matter how attractive he was, resembled an overeager puppy.

"It should give you most of the details, but one of us will be there to collect you lot at the station and get you through the turnstile."

Arthur fingered the sharp but undeniably delicate edges of the letter.

"Turnstile?" he asked but his mind was elsewhere.

"Yeah, it's a tricky bit, innit? Always get lost on my way out of London and I grew up there," Percy said with a huge grin and a shrug.

"I'm sorry," Arthur replied, voice caught in his throat. "Am I to be going somewhere?"

This time, Percy stepped forward and leaned down until he was more or less level with Arthur. "Mate, you're going North! I reckon that's quite a surprise with you being non-magical and all but I hears you're a special elf, ain't ya," he said with a feverish excitement that pierced the fog of Arthur's mind. "Sorry, but I've got five other stops. Cheers."

With that, he jumped up and wiggled himself through and out the skylight. Arthur didn't even have time to ogle the sliver of skin exposed between his shirt and his jeans. Mostly, this was because he was having his own slight mental breakdown.

When he got the presence of mind to move, he carefully unsealed the letter in his hand.

 **Arthur Pendragon** , you have been summoned by  
 _Father Christmas_ to report to  
 **Victoria Coach Station** , _toilets between platform 15 and 16_ at 0900 on December 1st  
to board the **Polar Express** calling at **The North Pole**.  
Please bring this invitation, as it will be the entry ticket required.  
If you have any questions, please refer to Elf Gwendolyn Smith, who is handling all secretarial duties of Father Christmas henceforth.  
If you have any special arrangements that need to be made, please inform us before the 30th of November  
Yours Faithfully,  
Elfin Council of the Poles  


Happiness seemed like such a small word to describe what Arthur felt, fingers tracing over the gold lettering. This was everything he ever wanted, to work there—to be _summoned_ as one of the best elves in the entire world. And yet, holding the letter in his hand was so surreal and although, yes, he did feel elated, there was something else. A lingering sadness seemed to swell, taking over the joy for being chosen; the glee at being able to rub this in Morgana's face when she realised that he'd been chosen as the first non-magical elf to work for Father Christmas; the relief of leaving his father's aspirations behind; the anxiety of what he was going to pack, of what this meant for his life, for his factories, for Leon—all of that faded into a dull, grainy focus.

In fact, all Arthur could truly feel was regret that his mother wasn't there to see him now.

<3<3<3

The joy of being asked to join Father Christmas didn't leave, but it certainly faded to a dull roar in the back of his head when he realised what preparing for a permanent move was going to be like in two days.

The call to Leon hadn't gone well.

("You don't have magic, you asshole. You are supposed to be boring and stable and loaded, but not getting summons to the North Pole two days before the biggest—"

"I'm trying not to be offended."

"—you are such a bitch, Pendragon. And you're going to be a nightmare to move. I imagine you fold your socks and oh no, if this is going to be anything like that trip to Iceland, you can just deal with it on your own."

"I am sorry to bother—"

"I'll be over in twenty and you better have some damn good wine, sir.")

But as it was, Arthur was staring at his packed up flat and wishing Leon had given him the tranquillizer that he was threatening earlier. (Why Leon kept so many aspects of his previous life as a handy way to threaten pain was a question that scared Arthur.)

Tomorrow, he was moving to the North Pole.

He was going to ride the Polar Express, see the exact place where his mother died and then he was going to go be the best elf in the entire world to prove to his father that this was his destiny and for his mother—well, she'd be so happy if she was here. If she was able to see him right now, with his boxed up flat and his suitcases and wow.

He was going North.

Also, his mobile was ringing.

"Hello, Morgana."

"You know, I'm surprised you're even answering your phone."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Because?"

"I thought you'd be jerking off to your invitation or having an asthma attack, like the first time you sat on Santa's lap and got an erection," she said, casual as ever and just as scathing as usual.

She swore she'd never bring that up again. Horrid woman.

"You're charming."

"You're a tool," she said brightly. "Are you excited?"

"To leave a company and a home that I quite liked to Lance, who admittedly is good at his job but not anywhere near ready to take on such an immense task of running the American factories? Or am I supposed to be excited about Leon screaming at me for clothing and throwing day planners at my head, whilst simultaneously threatening to pulverize me into reindeer feed? Or maybe..."

"So father called?"

Arthur sighed. "Worse. He sent Geoffrey."

"That fucking cunt."

"Morgana, I don't really want to speak about it."

"Arthur! What the hell are you talking about? Our father sent his personal assistant, who happens to be the most unpleasant man in the whole universe, to tell you what, that he was disappointed? That he hoped you fell into a snow drift and froze to death?"

The sad thing was, she wasn't far from the truth.

"He couldn't retract the trust fund or change any of our shared accounts but I am no longer the heir of Pendragon Corporation," Arthur said as smoothly as he could. He wasn't bitter. It wasn't like he needed the job anymore, being summoned was a full-time and life long position, but still. It stung having it ripped from him with so little as a 'congratulations on meeting your ultimate life goal, only son'. Retrospectively, Arthur knew that 'I'm happy if you're happy' was never going to be a phrase employed by his father, but still—Geoffrey?

"Oh, Arthur."

He shook his head. The heavy dose of pity in her voice wasn't something he wanted.

"It's nothing. You should have seen the look on Leon's face," Arthur said, moving on. "He was murderous."

"Arthur—"

"And if it wasn't for Geoffrey being a slippery bastard, I'm fairly sure Leon would have knifed him with that horrible hunting thing he keeps sheathed on his ankle. I think I should—"

" _Arthur_ —"

"No," he said, clipped and just this side of desperate. "I won't let this ruin my life, Morgana. He's our father but the North Pole is my destiny. I was made for this and I won't have his prejudices against magic and—"

"It's all right. I understand, Arthur."

Arthur wiped his face. He hadn't even realised he was crying.

"Yes, well," he said awkwardly, trying to calm his trembling chest. "Anyway, I leave tomorrow."

"Indeed you do."

She didn't sound nearly as cold as suspected. Arthur felt his own paranoia rise. "Did you get an invitation?"

"No, Arthur. I won't be ruining your big day."

"Why don't you sound more upset?"

He swore he heard a small laugh over the phone.

"Morgause thinks that Father Christmas is trying to move away from tradition by following the more fantastical whimsy of the Christmas Spirit."

Arthur didn't like the sound of that. There were traditions in place that were there for a reason. They weren't just flights of fancy by the Elfin Council, they were part of their heritage.

"I'm not sure I approve of that or even know what that means."

"You're such a fucking bore, Arthur. And a bit ungrateful, if it wasn't for Father Christmas' following of the Light, you wouldn't have been called in the first place," she said, this time her tone was just as scathing as expected. "What he's doing for you and for the rest of the world is beautiful. I've seen it."

He didn't even try to contain his sharp gasp.

"You had a vision?"

The last time she had a vision, his mother died.

"Yes but I'm not supposed to talk too much about it, especially to you. My only advice is to try not to be an enormous dick to everyone and remember, he chose you and he's got more Light in his pinky finger than you have in your entire body."

"Morgana, I can't believe you'd presume I would be—"

"Just, leave your fantasies at the door, Arthur. This is real and you can't control everything in your pathetic little life," she said softly, without heat. It almost sounded like advice instead of an insult. "Get some sleep."

"Yeah, I just... yeah. Thanks."

"Whatever."

It was a long time before he was able to fall asleep that night.

<3<3<3

It was rare that Arthur travelled by Elfin magic. Mostly, it was because Elfin magic left strong traces and that would mean Arthur would glow, an act he liked to think was private, and that it was recorded. Lord Pendragon would have had a fit if he found Arthur's name on the registry before now. But since his relationship with his father was in a shambles and he was undoubtedly going to be glowing as soon as he got near the Polar Express, it seemed better than suffering through a plane ride.

Not to mention he was short on time.

Port-Tunnels worked rather a lot like the Tube. There were set stations all over the world and after purchasing and registering, you would walk to the station, find your platform and at the exact moment on your ticket, you'd start walking. A five minute walk would have you on the other side of the world and safely at your destination.

"This is madness."

Arthur fiddled with his suitcase and ignored Leon's bitching.

"Stop ignoring me or I'll hit you with my clipboard," Leon said, sounding bored as ever but the redness in his cheeks gave him away.

"Leon, are you _nervous_?"

The look on Leon's face was as if he'd sucked on a particularly sour lemon. "Behave, Mr. Pendragon, before I reroute the shipment that has the rest of your things to the South Pole."

"Hurry along, then," Arthur said, picking up his pace and rounding the corner to the station. 5am in New York was a busy time.

"I'm just trying to understand why we're up at five in the fucking morning, when we're travelling by magic, or really why I'm here at all, since I'm not the lunatic that was called to the North Pole."

Arthur smirked. "Are you honestly trying to tell me that you don't want to go?"

"If I see a polar bear, I'm telling them you taste a lot better than you look."

Twenty minutes later, they were walking through Victoria Station and Arthur was resisting the urge to plaster himself to the dirty floor of the station and kiss it. He was never more grateful to see so many bloody pigeons indoors in his entire life.

"I need coffee," Leon said, appearing next to him as he stared at the vast expanse of the station. "And we'll go through some points."

Arthur could only nod.

Nestled in a corner with some truly heaven-sent M&S coffee, Leon started waving his clipboard around again. Arthur vaguely wondered what they looked like to the rest of the world: Arthur in his three piece suit in muted colours except for his blood-red tie, black luggage rolling behind him with the air of business making sure to blend him into the rest of the London travellers; Leon in atrociously bright yellow, green and pink plaid shirt, rugged jeans, and a rucksack so beaten and frayed that Arthur was fairly certain he could see teeth marks from where reindeer had actually gnawed on the edges.

They were quite the pair.

"We'll arrive at approximately eleven tonight, if there aren't any delays, although I've heard a lot of rumours that there will be some famous passengers on this ride, so who knows," Leon said, rolling his eyes. "Your massive amounts of shit will have already arrived and I've hired some people to unpack for you. Your lodging isn't going to be exactly to your liking, sir, but seeing as how there are five hundred other elves living in the North Pole, you'll just have to make do. When we get there, I'll pick up keys and go register your snowmobile—"

With that, Leon made a pissy face.

"What is wrong with—"

"It's a noisy pollutant that scares the animals, disrupts nature and smells awful. I hate them. I hate you and you should be very grateful they let me have a part-time gig at the reindeer stables because I don't think I could handle you full-time in the North Pole, sir. I'm not joking about the polar bears," he growled out and made a very aggressive mark on his clipboard.

"Right. Would you rather I ski to get around? Maybe you think I would look particularly attractive with snowshoes?"

Leon stared at him blankly before moving on as if Arthur hadn't even spoken.

"There is a welcome breakfast the following morning and then a meeting with Father Christmas at 10:45, which I hope doesn't conflict with this breakfast thing," Leon said with a frown. "You elfin bunch tend to loiter at breakfast."

Arthur shook his head. "Wait, I'm meeting with Father Christmas tomorrow?"

"Sir, I know this may come as a shock to you, but you're an elf and you are going to work in the North Pole. It's been your lifetime goal, you're obnoxious about it and you want to give me a raise," Leon deadpanned.

"It's just the first I've heard of it," Arthur replied. And it was. God, meeting Father Christmas so soon? What could that mean? Was he getting his invitation retracted? Fuck, what was he going to wear?

And how embarrassing was it going to be if he glowed through the entire meeting?

"I got the email this morning, so don't yell at me. Now, after that I've got just as many meetings as you. I'll be giving you twice a day updates to your Blackberry and we'll have weekly meetings to go over your schedule, but for the most part, you'll be meeting with Gwendolyn Smith as your primary contact and general manager."

"Isn't she Father Christmas' secretary?"

"She's one of ten, sir. Don't get smart with me, alright?" Leon brandished his pen at Arthur. "She'll give you all the information you need to know about your assignments in the Pole. You'll be meeting with her just after your meeting with Father Christmas."

"Fine. What about Lance?"

Leon rolled his eyes and Arthur reached into his bag to grab some pain killers.

It was going to be a long morning.

<3<3<3

To say that Arthur had reservations about the "toilets between platform 15 and 16" as a meeting place was really just the tip of the iceberg. It was hard for him to believe that he could actually board the Polar Express there, but when he had brought up his objections to Leon, he just received a murderous glare and instructions to "shut up, sit pretty and play on that stupid phone".

Travelling by man-made transport made Leon jumpy.

When they arrived at the turnstile there was a black gentleman standing in a suit, wearing an ear piece. Arthur glanced at him but he didn't make eye-contact.

"Well go on then," Leon finally said after Arthur didn't move one bit. "We don't have all day, sir."

"Right."

Arthur approached the man, whose facial expression didn't move.

"Excuse me, but I have instructions to be here at nine, would you happen to know anything more about that?"

"May I see your invitation and an ID?"

Arthur handed both over. The man squinted before nodding and pressing into his ear piece to speak.

"I've got a handle on Pendragon, Arthur. Copy?"

There were a handful of prolonged seconds before the man nodded. "You may proceed with entry."

Arthur tried to walk through the turnstile but it wouldn't budge. He looked back at Leon, who just shrugged and made a "get on with it" motion with his hand. The man with the ear-piece didn't even blink.

He tried again.

"Clearly," Arthur said, coughing. "I am missing something for entry."

"Thirty pence."

Arthur blinked. "Excuse me?"

But the man didn't get a chance to answer because someone was pushing Arthur to the side and hugging the man with the ear piece... very aggressively.

"Elyan! My man! You look fuckin' aces in that suit," another man said, voice loud and boisterous, hair shiny and tousled. Arthur hated him on sight. "You pulled some shit duty."

The man with the ear piece, Elyan, smiled shyly. "Only because you're too ridiculous to being doing the meet and greet. This is supposed to be discreet, Gwaine. Also, you're the one who assigns the duty."

"Oh, like that ear-piece is anything near discreet. Was that Percy's idea? He's always had such a hard-on for James Bond."

"This is for _communication_ , you great pillock. Now, will you stop pushing the elves around? It's rude," Elyan said, nodding at Arthur.

Gwaine, the pushy one, suddenly seemed to realise that there was indeed someone else other than just the two of them. He gave Arthur an appraising look before promptly turning back to Elyan and laughing.

"Excuse me," Arthur said coolly.

Gwaine was still laughing, big belly laughs that made his face turn ruddy and Arthur wanted to slap him. Instead, he adjusted his tie, really hoping that Leon had already taken off to meet with his reindeer friends because he would take the piss in no uncertain terms.

"Sorry, mate. You're just so stuffy, yeah? Man. I've never seen a more serious Elf."

Arthur refused to be embarrassed, instead he turned to the other man and inclined his head politely. "The turnstile?"

"It's broken."

Arthur blinked, realising that Gwaine was the one who was speaking and not Ethan? No, Ellen?

"It's broken?"

"Is it?" Elyan asked, turning to look at Gwaine's grinning face and frankly disturbing eyebrows. They were wiggling like slowly dying caterpillars.

"Well, yeah. That's why Merlin sent me here."

Arthur sighed. It was hard to believe anything this man had to say when he was grinning like a lunatic. But Elyan shrugged and turned, "Sorry, mate. You'll have to climb over."

And that was how Arthur Pendragon, most respected elf in the world, climbed over the turnstile in between platforms 15 and 16 of Victoria Station in his perfectly pressed suit as two men he had just met tried to suppress their laughter. Admittedly, it was only Elyan who made any effort to curb his laughter, the other man just howled when Arthur's luggage got caught and there was a fair amount of tugging.

Suffice to say, he didn't look back as he walked down the tunnel, felt the magic shimmering around him and felt himself move from Victoria Station to someplace wholly different. He let it calm him, shifting his attention from that twat's face, which was still fairly fresh in his mind, to much more pressing matters.

He was going to the North Pole.

<3<3<3

 

The tunnel faded into a bustling station that was already wet with thick snowflakes. It was snowing heavily but the air was warm around him as he stood and took in the expansive platform and the hundreds of elves milling around. The magic was palpable in the air, heavy and blanketing, just like the snow that had piled into the corners of the station—snow drifts that sparkled with blinding sunlight.

It was amazing.

Arthur walked around the station, trying to keep his jaw from dropping at how beautiful the area was because he wasn't some wide-eyed elf from a village town. He was Arthur Bloody Pendragon, the best elf in the world, and he didn't have time to be in awe. But that didn't stop him from doing the most casual tour of the station he could manage. Clearly, everyone else was having the same trouble containing their excitement as he—dozens of elves huddled together, forming tentative alliances with bright eyes and glowing skin—many people peering off where the tracks disappeared into the snowy woods, anticipating the thrill of that first sight when the train pulled in.

Checking his watch, Arthur recalled that Leon thought the train would pull into the station around half-nine and leave before ten. He walked as idly as he could, pushing through the crowds of people until they began to thin. At the furthest edge of the platform, there were four steps that led down to a patch of woods. Arthur stood, transfixed before checking the time again.

He left his luggage behind.

As he stepped down, the air suddenly felt chillier but not completely unpleasant. But the snow falling from the sky now matched the temperature and Arthur shivered as he approached the clearing that seemed to dissolve into the train tracks to his right. It was such an odd place, even more thick with magic than the platform had been. Arthur could feel it clogging up his lungs with every breath he took. But it wasn't scary, it had a sort of calming effect that immediately sent red flags up in Arthur's brain.

He hadn't met a werewolf in a long time and he certainly didn't want to be the elf that got eaten by the Big-Bad-Wolf on the day he was going North.

Arthur shivered.

But nothing appeared out of the woods and near the tracks there was a small, two-seated bench. It was cold iron underneath his fingers when he traced the intricate patterns on the back that led to a small silver placard in the centre.

Igraine Pendragon  
An Elf of Father Christmas

His fingers were warmer than the freezing metal, his fingertips fogging up little fingerprints as he stared and traced his mother's name over and over again.

He had never thought to ask if there was a memorial here, but of course there would be. She died here, probably playing in the snow—maybe chasing a rabbit or starting a snowball fight. It had been an accident, as far as Arthur could find out.

She just slipped.

Arthur sat on the bench, frigid iron digging into the back of his thighs until his fingers went numb with cold and the pounding of his heart slowed to a dull roar.

Wow.

Of course, that would be when he was attacked by a werewolf.

"Holy fuck!" Arthur cursed, startling himself up off the bench when someone practically stumbled out of the woods. Equally disturbing was the way the air seemed to be electrified with magic, surging through and making Arthur's skin tingle.

This man was a magical creature.

"Oh!" The man startled before he _actually waved_. "I didn't mean to startle you."

Arthur narrowed his eyes, taking in the man before him. He stood out against the wonderland of snow behind him with a shock of messy dark hair that was interrupted by very large ear muffs. He was tall, possibly taller than Arthur, but thin as a reed—which was evident in the prominence of his collar bone under his white v-neck shirt.

 _Do werewolves have such perky nipples?_ was an absurd thought and Arthur pushed it away, trying hard to take in the man's skinny jeans and bright red Wellies with a clinical air.

If he was a werewolf, he was a very, very pretty one.

"Sorry, are you alright?"

Arthur blinked and then cleared his throat. "I'm fine. Just taking a break from the crowd," he said, eyeing the stranger who was casually walking toward him and blinking snowflakes from his eyelashes.

He had very blue eyes.

"Yeah," he smiled, dimples appearing on his cheeks. "It's pretty crazy in there. I've never seen so many elves together. They're an excitable lot, aren't they?"

Arthur bristled. "Elves are a dignified people."

"Oh, sorry," the man replied. "I didn't mean to offend. It's just—" he shrugged, another flash of a dimpled smile and Arthur was very distracted by the possibility of his own demise (as he hadn't completely ruled out werewolf) as the man's cheeks flushed. "You don't look much like an elf, do you?"

"You're the second person who's said that today," Arthur said. He stood straighter and willed himself not to be embarrassed. "I can assure you that I am indeed an elf," he said instead, voice as steely as possible with such an odd but undeniably attractive man blushing at him, looking for all the world as if he was a schoolboy with a crush.

It was distracting.

Arthur shook his head. "I must be going, I wouldn't want to miss the train."

"Oh, sure," the man said, a flash of disappointment marring his striking features for only a few seconds before he looked down at his shoes and then back at Arthur with a small smile. "It was nice meeting you?"

"You don't sound so sure."

The man shrugged again, knocking his knees together. "I didn't catch your name."

"I didn't give it," Arthur settled on before he brushed off the back of his trousers and turned to go.

"Maybe I'll see you on the train!" The man called but Arthur didn't look back. He couldn't tell which was more unnerving, walking away from his mother's memorial or the way the magic seemed to pulse out from him as if he was made of it.

Arthur gathered his suitcase and walked to the other end of the platform as quickly as he could, trying to put the entire incident behind him.

Thankfully, the sound of an incoming train provided an opportunity to do just that.

The Polar Express was everything Arthur had ever heard and so much more. It barrelled, sleek and ancient, into the station with steam billowing out of every orifice as it slowed to a stop. Metal and coal seemed to swell in the air until all one could see was the sheer bulk of the train as it huffed and puffed to a stop.

Arthur didn't realise he was holding his breath until his chest began to ache.

It was by far the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.

An old man dressed in overalls and a cap leaned out a window, "All aboard! All aboard!" he bellowed out, hand dipping into one of his pockets to check his pocket watch. He repeated his phrase and Arthur stood, staring for a few moments at the point of the train, where the grille seemed to rise up out of the steam and heavy snowflakes like a row of black, steel teeth breathing deeply before swallowing up the tracks.

There seemed to be a moment where everyone in the station paused—where the awe was overwhelming—before everyone broke into a flurry of movement, languages of all sorts clamouring together as everyone attempted to board the train at once.

Arthur queued, like any respectable Englishman, and nodded politely to the attendant as they took his name and directed him through the sprawling interior.

"Mr. Pendragon, your quarters," the man said, setting Arthur's luggage inside the small but cosy compartment before he turned and disappeared down the corridor.

The train was still alive with bustle as people boarded and prepared for their departure. Arthur dug out his Kindle, a tartan blanket and his slippers that Leon had packed inside the outer compartment of his suitcase and tried to settle on the low bed that occupied one side of the compartment. The other side had a bench, where Arthur's suitcase lay, and which looked to be worn almost completely through to the wood slats beneath.

The small bed, although too short for Arthur to fully stretch out, not that he'd actually be sleeping on the train, was much more comfortable looking.

Eventually, the same voice trickled over the compartment.

"This is the ten o'clock Polar Express direct to The North Pole. This train will not be calling at any other stations. If you are not an elf, this is not your train and you need to see an attendant immediately. If you are found aboard without your name being on the manifest, you will be stranded half-way between our current location and The North Pole. They tell me it's fairly chilly," the conductor said dryly. "Lunch will be served at one, tea at four and dinner at seven. You are more than welcome to eat in the dining cars or inform your attendant that you'll be taking your meals in your compartment. Please enjoy your journey and the coming season."

Arthur could hear the distant cheer of a few elves, probably already tucking into their mulled wine. He shook his head and pulled up a few facts and figures that had left to be reviewed for Lance.

<3<3<3

He worked through lunch, replying to panicked emails from Lance, scathing messages from Leon and the occasional electronic bitchfest Morgana sent him. He took tea and dinner in his compartment, finally changing into a crisp pair of red, silk pyjamas.

He was thinking of a nice reply to Leon's latest message, which entailed threatening to sodomise him with sleigh bells if Arthur was late the next morning, when someone knocked on his compartment window and then proceeded to come straight in.

"Excus—"

"Shh!" The man exclaimed, falling to the ground and looking up at Arthur with wide blue eyes.

Several things happened at once. The magical content of the room ratcheted up, causing Arthur to feel strangled with heat and shocked at the way it pooled in his groin; someone entered the train and started yelling "Merlin" quite loudly and the man on Arthur's floor, the very same man from before, put his fingers to his lips and said "Shh" again, like Arthur would listen to him.

Fortunately for him, Arthur was more concerned with the fact that silk pyjamas were not concealing his sudden erection. Nor could he stop thinking about the way his dreams had felt like this before, magic so thick that it filled up his cock and made him moan at the thought of crushed red velvet pressed up against the back of his thighs.

"Merlin! This isn't fucking funny, mate," the voice called out from the corridor. He was getting closer.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. The man on the floor, presumably Merlin, shook his head and then clasped his hands together, pleading.

"Merlin! Gwaine is going to kill you when he finds out you've given me the slip, you magical bastard!" This time, the voice had passed Arthur's compartment and they both listened as the footsteps carried the voice out of the car and into another.

"Get out," Arthur said, forcing himself to look down at the Kindle in his lap.

The man sat up. "Oi, there's no need to be rude."

"Rude? Oh, you mean like bullying yourself into my compartment without asking? Are you stalking me?"

He rolled his eyes. "I was desperate! It was remarkably hard to give Elyan the slip. He's getting better." The man chewed on his lip and all thoughts of _Elyan?_ vanished from Arthur's mind as he was reminded of his persistent erection, his silk sleep trousers and the dimpled face in front of him.

"Well," Arthur said, grinding his teeth. "I'm happy to have been of service, now you can see yourself out just as you saw yourself in."

The man frowned. "Why are you being so awful?"

"I'm not being _awful_ , I'm asking you to leave."

"What's your name?"

Arthur wanted to strangle him. "Where did you learn to hold a conversation?"

The dimples were back. "I'm Merlin," he said before he reached out and touched Arthur's knee.

The magic was so powerful that Arthur almost came in his pants, instead he just gasped out a moan and jerked back. This level of humiliation was unparalleled. Arthur's cheeks were flaming, his hands clutching the throw, his Kindle and anything else to the front of his crotch like a shield.

"Oh, _oh_ ," Merlin exclaimed. "My magic makes you—"

"Uncomfortable," Arthur forced out. He was mortified. What in the world did he do to deserve this special brand of torture? Fucking Christ.

"That's new," Merlin said. "Usually, people don't like it."

"I can't help it! It's not like—What are you? It's never been this bad. Are you doing it on purpose?"

Arthur glared but Merlin just grinned, eyes dancing with mischief and something else, very familiar—although extremely out of place here.

"Can I suck you off?"

Arthur gaped.

"Excuse me?"

But Merlin was already shuffling forward and pulling away the Kindle before Arthur could even squawk a measure of protest.

"You can't," Arthur finally gasped out, they were wrestling over the tartan throw. Merlin frowned, pouting and Arthur just glared back. "I've been _chosen_! I can't just get off with some... stowaway!"

Merlin huffed. "I'm hardly a stowaway!"

"You're not supposed to be here! This train is for elves only and dammit, I take my job very seriously. What if we get caught? Father Christmas isn't going to want—"

Something sharp crossed Merlin's features and magic jolted through Arthur so hard that he moaned, throwing his head back and rocking into it; completely leaving his crotch undefended.

"Fuck," Arthur hissed out as Merlin pressed his face to the wet patch of silk, where Arthur's cock was leaking. "Merlin—"

"I assure you, elf. Father Christmas would definitely approve," Merlin said, moaning when he opened his mouth to the wet spot. "Come on, yeah? Please?"

How was Arthur supposed to resist?

"Yeah," he said, voice suddenly dry from the solid blanket of magic that was making the whole room feel like it might explode along with Arthur's cock. His skin was burning up and he was glowing so fiercely that it was starting to be concerning. He had half a mind to be embarrassed but Merlin was pawing at the drawstring of his trousers and—

"Bloody hell," he murmured, when Arthur's cock was finally freed. Arthur leaned up and felt a fresh wave of mortification roll through him.

It looked like Arthur had a gold, glittering cock. That's how much his skin was glowing.

"Oh my god, you're fucking incredible," Merlin said, mouth open and eyes wide with heat. Arthur had only a moment to register that Arthur's reaction to the magic wasn't causing Merlin to run, but quite the opposite really because Merlin was shoving Arthur into his mouth like he would die without it.

"Fuck, oh," Arthur moaned, unable to look away even though he was surely getting a crick in his neck from the angle. Merlin was greedily swallowing around him, mouth wet and slick with an unyielding heat. It was like shoving his cock inside the sun—it was glorious and Arthur just bucked up, watching as Merlin choked a little on the length. Arthur's cock wasn't abnormally large or particularly long—no, Merlin was choking in eagerness.

He was practically gorging himself on Arthur's cock.

It was unbelievable pleasure everywhere. Every part of Arthur's body felt on fire with magic searing his skin and licking out in some sort of mime of Merlin's own tongue and the sweet suction of his mouth over the head of Arthur's cock.

Embarrassingly enough, it only took a few clumsy passes before Arthur was crying out and grabbing at Merlin's hair in warning. When Merlin opened his eyes, the blue of his irises were completely consumed in gold. Arthur gasped, mesmerized at the obscene stretch of Merlin's mouth over his cock, lips shiny with spit and precome and every part of them glowing bright gold with the magic of Christmas.

What _was_ he?

When Arthur came, Merlin jerked back and Arthur watched, mouth twisting in pleasure, as he came in streaks all over Merlin's face. Merlin pumped him through it, white smearing across his lips and dribbling down his chin from where it was running down his cheeks.

Arthur came back to himself feeling light headed with magic and so disorientated that he could barely focus on Merlin, whose hand was pressed up against his soaked crotch and grinning with those devastating dimples.

Merlin licked his lips, lapping at the come there and generally smearing it all over his face in the process. "Nothing says Happy Christmas like coming on someone's face, yeah?"

"Oh my god," Arthur cried out, head hitting the back of the compartment. "What is wrong with you!"

But the man was laughing, wiping the rest of his face off on Arthur's silk trousers and kissing Arthur's knees like that was _normal_ and _fucking Christ_ , what was even happening?

"That was stupid," Arthur murmured, watching as Merlin kept grinning. "We should have used a condom."

Merlin shrugged and nodded. "Yeah, well. Next time, yeah?"

Arthur gaped at him but he didn't seem to mind. He winked and swooped up to kiss Arthur, his tongue as enthusiastic and sloppy on Arthur's mouth as it had been on his cock. He sucked on Arthur's tongue and nipped at his mouth, moving on to something else before Arthur could respond.

"Hmm," he hummed when he pulled away, both of them panting and Arthur's cock twitched valiantly. "You taste like candy canes."

His eyes were still tinged gold.

And then was gone, his magic leaving the room felt like Arthur was without oxygen for a few scant seconds and by then, Arthur had barely enough time to catalogue Merlin's laugh down the hall or the way that he could hear someone calling Merlin's name again.

<3<3<3

Later, Arthur would play back the entire encounter and strangely enough, he swore that he heard sleigh bells when he came.

The ring was unmistakable.

Also, really disconcerting. Was he losing his mind?

<3<3<3

Arriving was a blur. They got shuttled to their housing but Arthur was too dazed and tired to take anything in. It appeared to be much like university dorms, to his distaste but he merely shrugged off his coat, dropped his luggage and collapsed into bed.

He hoped Leon's wake-up call in the morning wasn't too harsh.

<3<3<3

The sun didn't wake Arthur up. Instead, his window was slowly flooded with light from the lamp posts outside his window. Here, this far North, there was nothing but artificial light. When he was a kid, Arthur's mother would tell him that all the electricity at the North Pole was powered by the Christmas Spirit.

Looking at the way they shimmered into brightness, much like a slow creeping dawn, made him think that she wasn't just making it up for his entertainment.

He jumped into the shower, ignoring the fact that his room was nothing more than a glorified hotel room. There was a full bed with two end tables, a dresser and an armoire pushed up against the side of the room. The bathroom was off one end and a sitting room, with a tiny kitchenette were on the other end.

The shower was hot, even if the water pressure left something to be desired. Arthur scrubbed away the train ride, trying to ignore the blunt fact that he let a stranger—hell, a magical creature—blow him.

Maybe it was all a bad dream.

Either way, Arthur couldn't help but jerk off to the way the man had devoured his cock and the image of Merlin's eyes, glazed but glowing gold as Arthur streaked come all over his face. It was enough to have him gasping into the tiles and watching the evidence of his arousal swirl down the drain.

Leon was directing an small army in the tiny space of his accommodation.

"I see the snow has you channelling Stalin," Arthur commented, towel slung low on his hips.

"Watch it, Princess," Leon growled before practically shoving the man nearest to him. "Stop touching that."

Arthur grabbed his clothes and made a tactical retreat to the toilet. If he spent a little more time getting ready, no one would blame him.

"Stop hiding from me, sir," Leon beckoned twenty minutes later. "We've got places to be."

It was clear that the cold was agreeing with Leon. When Arthur re-emerged from the toilet, Leon was smoking a cigar out the window, tapping his clipboard on the sill and scratching his beard. Arthur adjusted his tie.

"You know it's pretty casual up here, right?"

Arthur shrugged, remembering the way Merlin had tilted his shoulders and let the light catch the smooth curve of his prominent collarbone. Arthur pushed the thought away.

"I've always dressed in three piece suits, Leon. My professionalism isn't going to go away just because it's colder up here. I'll just have to get used to wool," he said, folding his pocket square. Leon smirked.

"Fine."

Arthur turned toward the mirror as Leon went through the agenda.

"… oh and your meeting with Father Christmas is cancelled."

Damn. "Was there a reason?"

"None given to me, sir. But I imagine it's because they've moved the entire schedule around this week," Leon said, annoyance evident in his voice. "It's a clusterfuck, to be honest. But that's not the point. All you need to know is that your meeting is cancelled, I'm supposed to give you this and then you'll be needing to attend your usual meetings. The Welcome thingy today was cancelled and they're thinking of moving it all back to Christmas Eve."

"Hmm, do you think this will be a regular occurrence?" Arthur took the envelope in Leon's outstretched hand. It would be hard to work out a schedule if they were constantly changing the arrangements here.

"I was speaking with some friends at the stables and they seem to think the Elfin Council has been under the impression that the new regime change wouldn't affect the schedule, as it's mostly just tradition. But our new Father Christmas has revamped the whole calendar and, you'll like this, sir, has almost doubled the factory hours."

Arthur frowned. He did think that the schedule that Leon showed him didn't give them enough time to run an effective factory but doubling the hours might be dangerous. As much as toy manufacturing was his life, Arthur had the feeling that the other elves wouldn't be too pleased with this new development.

"Very well. Thank you, Leon. Is there anything else?"

"No. Your snowmobile keys are on the nightstand, I hope you die in an accident that leaves you so charred that they have to identify you by your dental records and absolutely don't call me if you can't find anything," Leon said, before he jumped up out of his seat and climbed out the window.

The North Pole was a truly mystical place.

<3<3<3

The envelope was from Gwendolyn Smith, directing him to his assigned factory. The next few days were dedicated to learning the ropes of the factory, getting the scheduling down and finding out just how they were going to handle all the extra work.

Arthur was out of the halls before the street lamps were fully lit and by the time he got home in the evenings, they were already burning at their lowest setting. But it was good work. The elves that were chosen were gifted in magic and their crafting was truly magnificent work. Arthur had been wary that his lack of magical blood would prevent him from truly leading the workers but other than the occasional whisper, it hadn't been mentioned.

There weren't any sightings of Father Christmas the first week. Arthur was prone to working with the window cracked in his office, just in case there was a sighting outside. Just a glimpse of him would have been satisfactory, but it was neither here nor there—Arthur was busy enough as it was, without having to entertain Father Christmas.

"So almost all the traditional hoops have been cancelled," Leon said five days later. "The only thing they're keeping is the Wishing Ceremony and they've pushed it back until Christmas Eve."

Arthur laughed. "Of all the least dignified things in the—"

"Sir, I can't tell you how excited I am to see you dressed up in costume," Leon said, glee riding the coattails of his words. "I'm sure you'll look fetching in tights."

"You bet your bollocks I will, but I still can't believe they've gotten rid of all the respectable Elfin traditions and kept this one."

Leon continued to whittle what appeared to be a unicorn, and the shavings were dropping all over Arthur's floor.

<3<3<3

The North Pole wasn't exactly how Arthur expected it to be.

But it was something that he got used to. From the first few days that started to blend into weeks, sleep was fleeting as Arthur worked almost through the night to make sure they were the best factory in the North Pole. The fifth faded into the fifteenth, meetings about Hanukkah's production lines faded and soon they were barrelling in the homestretch—up 27% in their product and almost 32% in their Christmas Spirit.

Sure, he spent most of the time wondering if Leon was going to help the elves bury his body outside the reindeer stables, but it was worth it.

It was by far the best month of Arthur's life.

This was all there was, making toys and creating a fundamental fibre of joy for the entire world to feel. What Arthur was doing felt tangible, more than any quota presentation he had to sit through with his father or sluggish Advent Sundays spent pandering to his father's delusions, wondering how things would have been different if his mother had never passed away.

Some nights, when he couldn't sleep from too much coffee, Arthur would wander to the station and look at the silent strength in the still silhouette of the Polar Express. There were some days when he felt like he had accomplished nothing, like he was simply a hive-worker and that he wasn't _anything_. Those nights required him to trace his hand over the thick steel of the metal grate at the front, woollen gloves catching on the rough edges.

He felt brave.

<3<3<3

Not once did Arthur see Father Christmas in the days of December. There were rumours running around, but there always were. By the time the twenty-third rolled around it was announced that Father Christmas would be appearing at the Welcome Dinner that would play host to the Wishing Ceremony on Christmas Eve.

At the time, Arthur had been averse to the idea. Christmas Eve was for smoothing out the kinks and making absolutely sure everything went perfectly.

But apparently here, in the most impeccable of places, Christmas Eve was for celebration. And the closer they rolled to the date, efficient and magnificently ahead of schedule, the more the North Pole seemed to come alive with magic.

The city centre looked like it was plucked from the pages of Dickens: quaint, magical lamps that dotted every single street; cobblestone walks with neatly trimmed hedges that lead to quaint accommodation blocks; the elves and various other Pole employees bustling around in mittens, scarves and dark wool coats. Fairy lights lit up the buildings in a blaze of light on every corner and carols were constantly sung by sirens that Arthur had thought were just a thing of dreams. The air smelled like cinnamon, like a bakery was always right around the corner with thick pastry and mulled wine to keep you warm. And to some extent, it was true.

The North Pole made Arthur want for nothing—or at least, think he should want for nothing. A nagging part of him was still curious about the man on the Polar Express. He hadn't seen him around the town, nor had Arthur seen any Wanted Criminal posters with Merlin's dimples plastered on them. It wasn't something he dwelled on but more a lingering thought when he slipped into the cold sheets of his bed, his room a little devoid of personality as he hadn't really gotten time to settle in—it all could wait until after Christmas. But admittedly, there were times when Arthur felt inexplicably lonely. It didn't help that Arthur was still having those magically tinged dreams, waking up hard and leaking in his pants.

Not that he had too much time to dwell on it.

Arthur had become increasingly familiar with the town as the month went on, having had more than a dozen arguments with the Postal Distribution Centre and pretty much any other organization that he wasn't in charge of. It was the downside of being a successful factory manager: no one liked you.

Which was only a problem when Arthur opened up his kit for the Wishing Ceremony to find his brown tunic two sizes too small.

"Leon!"

But Leon wasn't just outside his door, Leon was halfway across the Pole riding a reindeer or whatever it was that he did when he wasn't organizing Arthur's life.

His lunch break that day was spent trying to figure out if there was any way to get out of the Wishing Ceremony, as there was zero chance he was going to show up and not be completely humiliated.

By eight that night, he was buttoning up his wool coat and wishing that he had never been called to the North Pole at all.

<3<3<3

The Dome was a glass structure in the exact centre of town. During the day, there were hundreds of tables set up and it served as a cafeteria. Tonight, it looked like a ballroom. Fairies filled the cap of the dome with sparkling lights that glinted off the silver and gold decorations that swung low from the ceiling. The atmosphere was incredible with the snow falling heavy outside and the warmth of the dome was impossible to despise as the bustling crowds of elves clearly fed off the tiny glasses of champagne and overall ambiance. Even the looped mistletoe couldn't shake Arthur's bewilderment when he first walked into the room to see the endless evidence of Christmas Spirit humming through the room.

It truly was amazing.

And certainly far from the human world Arthur was used to.

A female centaur was playing the piano on an elevated stage, Fairies dipping low enough to light up her startling features. There were elves everywhere, all in traditional dress and the humans were easily spotted—their tuxedos and elegant dresses stood out against the more traditional other worldly dress code. But there were some surprises too, because as Arthur scanned the crowd he could see the long velvet robes of the Witches Council. It was rare that their two worlds crossed, Elfin magic strictly being used for Christmas related endeavours and rarely used for anything else; whereas the other magical communities often let their magic bleed into life. Where Elves could scry, they wouldn't even think about it outside a professional capacity. It was something that drove Morgana insane.

"Your coat, sir?"

Arthur blinked and realized he had been staring at the crowds around him, ignoring the human in front of him who was looking at him in a politely bored manner. Arthur cleared his throat, almost giving his coat away before he remembered exactly what he was wearing.

"No, I don't think that will be necessary," he said, trying not to blush.

"It is rather warm."

But Arthur shook his head and moved out of the way. He wasn't nearly ready to take off his coat and he suspected that it would take a tray of eggnog tumblers to make him anywhere near ready.

Fortunately, a kind looking man stopped by with such a tray and Arthur let the smooth liquid slide down his throat as he worked his way across the room. He tried to avoid as many people as possible, being polite but not engaging but it was still business. However, as the dome began to fill with more elves and all sorts of magical people, creatures and half-breeds alike, it was beginning to get warmer than was comfortable.

He was chatting with someone who had worked with Morgana on a charity project, sweating just slightly more than appropriate and thinking about braving the humiliation to take off his coat when everything went a bit to shit.

"… really, Pendragon, you must take off your coat. Are you in traditional dress tonight? I swore Morgana said that she was going to enjoy seeing you in tights this evening," the woman said teasingly and Arthur stopped, swallowed the rest of his drink and fought his cringe.

"Did she?"

"Oh yes, I always was so jealous of the Elves—"

But Arthur was no longer listening and instead scanning the crowd for Morgana. It was an enormous room, with magic buzzing pretty heavily in the air, making it difficult to pinpoint Morgana's magical signature with so much interference but it didn't stop him from trying.

Several people came to join the group he was involved in conversation with and he slipped away.

"Leon, where are you?"

"I'm not working tonight," Leon said over the line. "I don't even want to see you."

"Don't fail me now. And believe me, when you see what I'm wearing, you're definitely going to want to see me—if only for blackmail purposes."

Arthur flinched and downed the rest of his drink. There was a pause before Leon said, "Meet you by the toilet in ten."

There wasn't enough eggnog in the _worlds_.

<3<3<3

When Arthur opened up his coat, Leon didn't laugh. He did, however, take a picture with his Blackberry, hold it close to his chest and look like Arthur had just given him a raise.

"This is the best day of my life," Leon stated. Arthur wanted to hit him.

"I thought this was just because I yelled at the uniform manager two days ago for—never mind, it doesn't matter but I think it's just Morgana," Arthur replied, looking down at himself. "I look like I walked out of a badly made porno."

Leon tilted his head, as if Arthur's outfit needed examining. It really didn't. The traditional brown tunic was supposed to fall to his knees. Instead, it barely covered his arse cheeks and if it wasn't for the green tights keeping his cock and balls tucked up close, his cock would be visible from the dangerously short hemline. The v-neck of the hemline also looked like it belonged on a female human's evening gown, as the only word to describe it was _plunging_.

"Ho, ho, ho?" Leon said with a smirk.

Arthur flailed. "You've got to fucking fix this!"

"There is not enough fabric in the world, sir."

"What do I do?"

Arthur let himself be turned around, as if Leon would magically have the answer but instead, Leon simply slipped the coat off Arthur's shoulders and whistled.

"What do I do, _Leon_?"

Leon scratched his beard. "Sir, you get very, very drunk."

<3<3<3

To be fair, most of the elves were already drunk by the time Arthur made it out of the toilet. Leon retrieved for him several shots of expensive rum, a large tankard of eggnog and ran interference for him while most of the crowd stared, shocked and appalled.

Arthur had never been more self-conscious of his thighs in his entire life.

"Sir, I don't mean to be crude, but people are staring because they want to climb you like a motherfucking Maple tree."

Arthur blinked, trying to wrap his head around Leon's words and then blinked again.

"Leon, have you been drinking?"

"I don't even know who you are. I've practically forgot your name and it's fucking glorious," Leon replied, snapping another photo of Arthur with his mobile and then stomping off into the crowd.

"I hear your personal assistant has left you in favour of molesting reindeers," a voice said from somewhere behind him. "Also, I think your arse is getting flabby."

"Morgana," Arthur said, turning around and resisting the urge to clutch his bum. He had a nice arse—it was _meaty_ and not flabby. He narrowed his eyes and tried to take in her appearance. She was wearing emerald and silver robes that he noticed a few other people wearing but hadn't noticed who they were affiliated with. But he was sure they weren't elves and no matter what, Morgana didn't hide who she was.

"Arthur," she said, not hiding her glee at his costume predicament. If they weren't in public, Arthur would risk the indecent exposure of his manly bits and tackle her to the ground, put her in a headlock to remind her that he had, at one point in their lives, had some sort of advantage over her. "You're looking... exposed."

"You're looking like a bitch."

She smiled. "I see the money I spent bribing the laundrette paid off nicely."

"What are you doing here?" because now Arthur felt like a complete twat, arrogant enough to believe that anyone here would deem him annoying enough to actually punish him so soon. No, of course this was all Morgana's doing. "You didn't get an invitation. You said—"

"I said I didn't get an Elfin invitation, brother dearest."

She looked smug. Arthur took a deep breath and reminded himself that he was fairly drunk and not wearing the appropriate outfit to have a tantrum with his relations.

"So you've been here since the 1st?"

She shrugged. "More or less. Morgause, Nimueh and I were called up by Emrys but we've been staying elsewhere."

"Does Morgause even have a soul?"

"No, but I'm sure she'll eat yours if you're feeling generous," Morgana said, baring her teeth. "Don't be a snob, Arthur. Don't act like you know what's going on any more than any of the other elves here. So wrapped up in tradition and bullshit that you can't see what Emrys is doing—"

"Who the fuck is Emrys?"

Which, wasn't the right question to ask because Arthur knew, however vaguely, who Emrys was. Or rather, who he was _supposed_ to be. The rumour from the sketchier parts of Halloween's worshippers were that he was a human, born with magic that transcended each community and that when he rose to power, the sheer breadth of his magic would connect them all and the true reign of the other worldly would begin. Basically, Emrys would rise to power and with the power of magic, would bring peace to humans (because they certainly couldn't get their shit together) and to all magical creatures.

He was … a myth. A bedtime story that people who were involved in fairytales told their children. He was the dreamers' dream. He wasn't real.

Arthur shook his head.

"Bloody hell, Morgana. I'm not the only one who acts holier than thou when it comes to magical secrets." He knew she was thinking of fights with their father, magic singing in the air as Uther tried to tear her down, tried to bring her back from where magic would take her by knocking her down a peg or two with snide words. He could tell she was thinking the same thing, tracing back the conversations when she'd throw her magic in Arthur's face because it was guaranteed to do damage.

Her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment and not alcohol. Arthur counted it as a win and the fury in Morgana's eyes was only confirmation.

"Does that mean you know why so many magic folk are here?" He didn't look at her when he said it, but it's enough of a give for them to stop raising their voices at each other. People were already staring at him, he didn't need to have a domestic to add to his embarrassment.

"Yes but I'm not going to ruin the surprise," she said finally and Arthur shrugged. It was fair enough, Morgana always liked to lord her privilege of knowledge over him. "Have you heard from Father?"

Surprisingly, Morgana looked curious and not vengeful.

"Leon keeps telling me that the North Pole doesn't allow massive cuntholes to even leave voicemails this far north," Arthur said with a smile, hiding it by downing the rest of his drink. "But I think he might be lying to protect me."

"He's properly mental, isn't he?"

"He hit me with a clipboard the other day."

She raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't sound unusual."

"He was riding a reindeer in nothing but a gingham onesie," Arthur finished with as much as a straight face as he could muster. Morgana's laugh was boisterous, making the nearest fairies flutter brightly in their direction.

Arthur motioned toward the bar and Morgana followed. Hell, he could admit that he was beaten. She won that round and if she wanted to keep her secrets, he could live with that. But if he was going to survive the rest of the night in that blasted costume, he was going to have to be a fair sight more pissed than he was.

"Jägerbombs?"

Morgana gave him the two fingered salute but didn't object to the train the bar tender set up for the two of them.

<3<3<3

Two hours later and the Wishing Ceremony was bound to begin soon. Most of the attendees were well into the alcohol and Arthur found himself pleasantly drunk. He and Morgana were getting along much better with spirits buffering their interactions.

"Emrys is here," Morgana said but Arthur didn't have a clue who that was. It took a moment for him to realise she was speaking to a small boy by her side.

Arthur scooted a little farther away. Mordred creeped him out. It had been a while since Arthur was first introduced to the fey little boy who stared at almost everyone with unblinking eyes.

"Hmm. That's interesting. He said he'd still make the announcement before the ceremony, regardless of the council's opinions," Morgana continued, as if Mordred had replied, even though Arthur hadn't seen the boy's creepy little mouth move.

He was too drunk to deal with Mordred.

"Um, Morgana, what's happening?"

But she didn't have a chance to scold him for eavesdropping, as a petite woman with dark curly hair and skin that seemed to radiate climbed onto the platform in the centre of the room and cleared her throat.

"Good evening, North Pole! I'm Gwendolyn Smith. I know most have you through our communication via email and it's so nice to see all your faces here in the flesh. I'd like to welcome you all to the beginning of the long appointment of Father Christmas, as you all have been selected by the power of the Christmas Spirit to be here, bringing tidings of good will to the entire world all year long," she said with a smile that could have guided all the people of the world to Bethlehem if she had been in charge. She was gorgeous.

Around him, the crowd cheered.

"The Wishing Ceremony will begin shortly but before we pick the chosen, Father Christmas would like to say a few words."

A hush fell over the dome as Gwendolyn stepped off the stage and a very familiar sight stepped onto the stage. Arthur felt all the air go out of the room as Father Christmas climbed the stairs. Traditionally, Father Christmas wore green and tonight, he didn't disappoint but he clearly didn't look like the pictures Arthur had seen as a boy. The man standing on the platform was young, much younger than any of the previous Santas, and dressed in an emerald, long-sleeved shirt that looked like it might be at home on Leon's lumberjack shelf. He had black braces that led to the traditional red velvet trousers that hung loosely from his hips and pooled, slouched as his shoulders, into his tall black boots.

But it wasn't just his dress that caused the air to rush out of Arthur's lungs.

No. That would be the startling revelation that the same man who was standing on the stage proclaiming himself Father Christmas was the same dimpled man who sucked Arthur off on the Polar Express.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

But no one heard Arthur's exclamation because the whole dome had erupted into cheers. The clapping was deafening, rattling the glass panes above them and it was only when the people settled down that Arthur noticed the faint glow off of most of their skins.

Ah, the magic.

It was probably best if he didn't think about it actually.

Right.

"Evening," Father Christmas said, although Arthur couldn't really see him as Father Christmas, but as a bloke named Merlin. "I know a lot of you have questions that need answering but I'm afraid I don't have a lot of answers. If you look around you, there are more than just Elves here tonight and it's not because we're lax with security. Although, my head of security has been into his cups since five."

The crowd giggled, cooing and Arthur could catch snippets of conversation that mostly commented on how handsome Father Christmas was, how young or cute or _whatever_. Arthur frowned. Mer—Father Christmas looked nervous, his cheeks flushed and the way his right hand alternated from rubbing the back of his neck to sliding into the front pocket of his velvet pants showed nervousness that was so undeniably human that it sort of rocked Arthur's foundation.

"The funny thing is, my head of security is my best friend and he knew me by the name Merlin growing up, which some of you might recognize because it's connected with a story about Emrys," Father Christmas said with a shrug. "I'm him too. I'm Merlin and I'm Emrys and now, I'm Father Christmas. I have really great plans that I want to share with you, about how we can come together—demon to elf, human to fairy, and everything in between—to understand that the Christmas Spirit is everywhere. It's in the rush of the New Years ball; in drunken snogs with friends and lovers; in the rush of sickly sweet Valentine's candy; it's hidden in Cadbury's delicate eggs; bursting forth in each and every holiday that ties all manners of people together. What we forget as we're all bustling through life, is that we all have something in common. December is a month for rebirth, from Christians to Pagans—there is a magic that lives in us all—a spirit that burns all year long like the yule log.

"I'm here to challenge you," he said, words firm and eyes so bright. Arthur could feel the stroke of magic in the air, like a cello being played. "We're bigger than our petty arguments and we're better than this. I am distinctly human and yet I feel magic in everything I do because I am magic. I'm here to ask you to understand why we're here. I'm here to ask you to believe in us, for once, and not just Christmas."

There was a pause, magic crackling in the air as everyone seemed to draw a collective breath.

Then Morgana whistled and it was chaos. People were cheering and Arthur saw more than one person in the crowd crying. There was something incredibly charming about a man who just stood up there, casual and so small in comparison to all of them, and asked them for more than they could possibly imagine giving to him and then blush when he was done.

He was seriously looking down at his shoes and being absolutely ridiculous.

"See?" Morgana yelled in his ear, slinging her arm around his shoulder and shouting in his ear. "You're fucking perfect for each other."

"What! What the hell are you talking about?"

But she was just grinning that evil, all knowing grin that said: _I'm better than you, not only because of my breasts but also because your brain is very, very tiny_.

So Arthur just pinched her in the side. She laughed, still uproariously in his ear, like she was bound and determined to split his ear drum.

"A magical human for a non-magical elf," she taunted.

Then she made a really rude gesture with her hands.

"Are you fucking taking the piss?"

But she was still laughing, curls wild and everyone was still cheering and screaming, calling for more drinks all around them as if what Father Christmas or Merlin or Emrys—whatever the fuck they were supposed to call him—had asked of them was easy. But that's the thing, it wasn't going to be easy and it was ridiculous to think that they would be celebrating instead of planning but Arthur was too drunk to do more than pout. Well, and try and figure out how Morgana found out about the illicit oral sex on the Polar Express.

Oh fuck, he was _rhyming_ in his mind like he was in a Dr Seuss book.

"You're mental!"

"You're a slut for the Christmas Spirit, Arthur," Morgana continued to yell over the noise, much to Arthur's complete and absolute horror, as Mordred was still staring at them with those judgey eyes like he could hear every word she was saying.

"Don't worry, Arthur. It's your destiny," she assured him. Then as an afterthought, "You slag."

That's when Arthur realised that he was generally just supporting Morgana's weight as she ranted and humiliated him more than his stupid outfit ever could.

So he dropped her.

Like she was hot.

And took off toward the bar.

He would have made it too, would have drunk himself into his own little Christmas coma, if it hadn't been for tradition.

Tradition, which _traditionally_ , was Arthur's only touchstone, was now his ultimate downfall.

"—the first Elf to be selected for the Wishing Ceremony is Arthur Pendragon!" Gwendolyn's voice boomed over the roar of the crowd and Arthur stopped in his tracks.

He didn't even get time to process the fact that _all his dreams were coming true_ but did it really have to be _this_ Father Christmas? What was wrong with the traditional Father Christmas who was old and jolly and hadn't been in and around Arthur's nether regions?

He didn't have time to make sense of any of it because before he could gather his next breath, he was being bustled away by two large men in tuxedos.

<3<3<3

By some stroke of luck, the Wishing Ceremony was done in a separate room and not in front of the whole dome of magical occupants (and clearly some not-so-magical ones as well).

As Arthur was marched there, his mind helpfully reminded him that this was where the tradition of Santa Clauses in every mall and shopping centre all over the world had come from. This simple ceremony was performed by magic, in the North Pole, when all the chosen elves grouped together and one very special elf was plucked, seemingly at random, to go sit on Father Christmas' lap and request the first gift of Christmas.

Up until about until about ten minutes ago, it was one of Arthur's most treasured dreams.

Now it was a living nightmare.

"Um, so this is really awkward," Merlin said, and Arthur shrugged, cautiously mounting the steps that lead up to the large chair Merlin's sitting in.

"Did you do this on purpose?"

He felt so humiliated that it's turned angry because how was this any different than his father? Sure, everyone here was supposed to have the same blasted goal, but it hadn't stopped anyone from scowling at Arthur's work ethic or grumbling low, about how Arthur took himself too seriously. And wasn't that the crux of it all? Arthur was tired of everyone speaking about _coming together_ , when they had jobs that they were doing that were important—that were about coming together and doing good. There was always more to be done but he was tired of talking about it. He didn't know how to do anything but be himself, to do the tasks that were laid out in front of him and accomplish them as swiftly and magnificently as possible.

"No," Merlin shouted, blushing furiously and looking just as angry as Arthur felt. "Gwen pulls it from the Stocking of Names, kind of like Harry Potter and the whatsit Goblet, only with less fire and more garland."

Arthur told himself that the rambling wasn't endearing. Nor were Merlin's bright eyes, almost feverish, or the petulant pout of his mouth.

He narrowed his eyes.

"Stop squinting at me," Merlin said, blinking owlishly. "I have no idea what that means. If that means violence, which I've heard you're prone to because you're a brat then I should warn you, I have ninja reindeers at my beck and call. Also, Percy."

"I'm not going to hit you." He really hadn't planned on it. Although, now that he thought about it, there would be something satisfying about hitting the man who embodied everything about his life that was spectacularly unruly.

Merlin looked around, hands twitching a little and looking so much _smaller_ than he had up on stage. He was still more than a little awkward but here he had lost his commanding presence. Arthur could still feel the magic—it was hard to ignore the way it filled up the room—but Arthur had gotten used to the more constant presence of it in his life. Not that being here, so close to Merlin and his stupid Christmas magic wasn't making him uncomfortable in his stockings but it was less urgent than it had been on the train.

Still bloody annoying.

"How does this work?" Arthur said, looking away from Merlin's ears, which he had just noticed as sticking out from his messy hair, pronouncing their softness and begging to be petted. Those ears, they were making Arthur antsy.

"Oh," he said, wringing his hands together and then pulling on his braces. "You just, um, sit on my lap and—"

"I'm not sitting on your lap."

Merlin frowned. "I don't know what your problem is. Do you want me to apologize for sucking you off on the train? Oh, sorry, it was my mistake. I must have tripped and fell with your cock in my mouth. I'm sorry it was such a horrible experience for you, you fucking tosser."

Even though the set of Merlin's mouth was strong he looked vulnerable on such an opulent chair. Suddenly, Arthur felt uncomfortable, similar to that time he yelled at an elf for being late and she burst into tears. He found out later her dog just died and that working on the Pillow Pet line was causing her severe psychological damage.

"Let's just get it over with, yeah?"

Merlin deflated a bit, his shoulders sagging. He let Arthur approach the chair without any fuss. The problem was that Arthur still had that blasted erection from the magic in the room and sitting on Merlin's lap wasn't going to make it go down, especially since Merlin's mouth was red and swollen from chewing on it in between making scathing comments at Arthur.

Arthur tried to hold most of his weight when he sat down, staring straight ahead at the tinsel in front of him. However, the silky sheerness of his stockings, combined with how his tunic had ridden up when he sat down had his body sliding off.

"Fuck!" Arthur shouted, fully expecting to land on his arse but when he opened his eyes he was fully seated on Merlin's lap with one hand wrapped around Merlin's neck. Arthur could feel the way his long fingers curled into the thin material of the tunic and fuck, was it insanely hot in there?

"Um."

"Shut up," he said tersely, trying to shift so that Merlin wasn't the only thing keeping him from falling to the ground. Unfortunately, that meant wiggling on Merlin's lap and generally rubbing himself all over him.

Arthur could feel the velvet practically clinging to his thighs.

He tried to close his eyes and breathe but it only caused him to take in the heady scent of cinnamon and that bone deep heat of spiced cider, simmering on the hob.

If he wasn't hard before, he surely was now.

Merlin cleared his throat. "What do you want for Christmas?"

It came out raw, as if Merlin hadn't spoken in a long time.

 _Or if you fucked his throat or made him scream_ , his brain helpfully supplied.

The funny thing was, that was the last thing Arthur had been thinking about. When he was a kid, he wanted world peace because that was what he was supposed to say. He'd say it and his mother would smile, sweet and sunny before patting his head and saying, _What else, dear?_ and his father had nodded because that's what his father did when he approved. Last year, all Arthur wanted was to be called to the Pole, but now that he was here, he wasn't sure what else he wanted.

Objectively, he had everything he needed and then more, so much more than he ever could have truly imagined having within his grasp.

"I don't know," he said, almost accidentally.

Merlin just hummed. The sound was so close to Arthur's ear that he couldn't suppress his shiver as magic chased it down his spine.

What was the question?

"What did you say in your letters, when you were a little boy?" Merlin asked, voice still low but tentative. It was hard to tell if he was real, as the magic was heady around them but Arthur could feel the heat of the velvet against his thighs and the puff of air on his neck from where Merlin was breathing.

"I think it's probably changed."

Merlin huffed a laugh. "Hmm, I'd count on that."

It was only then Arthur realised that his eyes were closed, head pushed back onto Merlin's shoulder as he panted. He was so hot. His skin felt like it was on fire from the pads of Merlin's fingertips and spreading, too far across his chest and the low, sensitive skin of his belly.

"Fuckin' hell," Merlin said, his lips pressing across Arthur's neck and he couldn't help it, he moaned, forcing his hips back and _there_...

"Fuckfuckfuck, what are you even," he cursed and Arthur wanted to smile, to smirk at being able to make _Father Christmas_ reduced to petty swearing but all he could see was Merlin's lips stretched over his cock and—

"Arthur," Merlin said. This time, he spoke with his teeth grazing the fevered flesh of Arthur's shoulder. Arthur responded by rocking his hips, pushing back to feel the warm bulge of Merlin's cock beneath the velvet.

Just like in the dream.

"Arthur," he repeated. "Tell me what you want for Christmas."

But it wasn't like Arthur was in a position to speak—or even do more than moan like a slag because Merlin's hand was winding up Arthur's thigh. He watched, eyes heavy lidded as Merlin's pale fingers—long and slender—crept up his stocking clad thigh and cupped his cock through the mesh.

"Jesus Christ," Arthur hissed, back arching to slam into Merlin and fuck, that felt good. Merlin responded with a push of his own, cock pressing into the groove between Arthur's thigh and arse.

"He's not here right now," Merlin said. Then he sunk his teeth into Arthur's shoulder. "It's just me, Father Christmas."

Arthur groaned, both of his hands now holding on to Merlin's so that he could grind against his hand.

"I think it's pretty fucking obvious what I want—"

This time, Merlin's laugh was deep and half a growl. "I didn't even think to check," he said, sucking a love bite that made Arthur kick one leg out in frustration. It bloody hurt. "But I bet you're on the Naughty list."

It was a truly awful pun but Arthur didn't care. He really, really didn't.

"I can't understand why we aren't fucking," Arthur growled out, teeth clenched as Merlin squeezed particularly roughly with his hand.

"You haven't answered my question, little elf."

Arthur thought about how much he was going to hate himself the next morning. He thought about how it was going to be so violating to think about Morgana watching him get off on a scry. He thought about Leon chasing after him with a herd of reindeer. He thought about how this wasn't really what he dreamt about as a little boy when he thought about meeting Father Christmas.

Then he stopped thinking, turned his head and said, "Father Christmas, I would like to get fucked, please and thank you."

Merlin's mouth was messy and wet but he didn't taste like spirits. Arthur suddenly felt self-conscious—was he too drunk for this? But the thought was fleeting. He didn't feel too drunk. Then again, the magic that rolled of Merlin was interfering with pretty much everything.

And mostly, Arthur didn't want to care. Not with Merlin moaning into his mouth, little hitching little moans that went with the jerk of his hips and _holy fuck_ , he needed to be naked now.

But it was too hard to stop kissing Merlin, who seemed to think that Arthur's mouth was the best thing since gingerbread the way he lapped at Arthur's teeth and moaned when he sucked on Arthur's tongue. It wasn't that Arthur was ignorant of how attractive he was but it was Merlin's moans, like Arthur was the best thing he'd had in his hands all year that did his head in, even more than the magic.

Which was insane.

Then Arthur reached down and palmed the damp velvet of Merlin's trousers and felt the best thing _he'd_ felt all year long.

"I can't believe I'm going to say this," Arthur gasped out when Merlin latched himself to the underside of Arthur's jaw. "But I'm going to need you to fuck me."

Merlin laughed. "Aww, does Arthur Pendragon never need a good thorough pounding?"

"Not usually." And it was true. Most of the time, the men (and occasionally other magic beings) were looking to get fucked by Arthur—looking to get held down by Arthur's gym-toned arms and fucked through the mattress.

Not this time.

"Seriously, holy fucking hell," Arthur cursed, letting his palm try and work out the shape of Merlin's cock beneath the clinging velvet.

Then again, if Arthur was that velvet, he wouldn't to let go either.

"I need," but Merlin just made a frustrated sound, pushing at Arthur's hips until he stood.

Sex-crazy Merlin as Father Christmas was just as delightful as the man Arthur met back on the train. His hair had gone completely wonky, his cheeks were riding a high flush and his lips, hell, they look exactly like they did wrapped around Arthur's cock, swollen, red and begging for it.

"What do you need, hmm? What do you want for Christmas, Santa?"

Arthur's teasing seemed to fall flat in the face of Merlin's earnest fingers as they pressed up and up, until the brown tunic was bunched up around Arthur's armpits and neck.

"Nipples," Merlin said, eyes glazed. "I want to suck on your—"

Merlin's mouth was just as hot and wet as Arthur remembered. Only this time, they were sucking too hard on Arthur's nipples, rolling the peaks between his teeth and then flicking the searing nub a few times with his teeth until Arthur cursed.

Arthur really was going to pull him off, because having his tit sucked on by Santa was not respectable, but then his fingers found Merlin's ears and he lost all train of thought.

They were just as soft and secret as they looked.

By the time Merlin's mouth had reached the band of Arthur's stockings, Arthur's tunic was gone; his nipples were bitten and so fucking sore; Merlin had lost one strap of his braces and Arthur could see the tip of his cock peeking out from those stupid, sexy velvet pants.

"Do you trust me?"

Arthur blinked. "What."

Merlin kissed the bulge in Arthur's tights. "Do you trust me?"

Did Arthur trust Merlin? He didn't know Merlin and so there was no reason to distrust him but did he really want to be giving full rein to somebody who had their teeth that close to his dick? Then again, Merlin was also Father Christmas and who didn't trust Father Christmas?

Arthur could not believe he was about to fuck Santa.

Unreal.

"Um, yes," Arthur settled on. "But can I ask why?"

"Because I'm about thirty seconds away from pulling away your tights and casting a spell."

"On my arse?"

Merlin winked. "I don't normally carry condoms to Wishing Ceremonies, and—"

"A protection spell?"

The fingers on his hips flexed. "Yeah. I know how elves normally hate using magic for frivolous things."

"My arse isn't—"

"Then let me," Merlin said, kissing Arthur's navel. "Please let me fuck you."

Arthur would love to have been able to blame it on the lull of the magic but he couldn't. Not really. Not with Merlin's bright eyes and his cheeky dimples and those perfect, elephant ears.

"Yeah," he breathed out.

Then Merlin was spinning him around, pressing on his shoulders until Arthur had his arse in the air, waiting for Merlin to fuck him with anything.

At this point, Arthur wasn't picky.

It turned out that if Arthur thought he liked to be _around_ magic, then he fucking _loved_ having magic performed on him.

"Fuckin' hell," Merlin muttered, his fingers slick and pressing into Arthur like they were made to be there. "You're amazing. How do you do that—you—"

Arthur really just wanted Merlin to shut up. He could hear how full of awe Merlin sounded and it made Arthur's stomach curl with shame and desire.

"I've never seen anyone like you, Arthur. You want it, your skin fucking glows with how bad you want my magic inside of you," Merlin continued, heedless of the way Arthur grunted and thrust back onto Merlin's fingers, as if he could actually hurry this ridiculous man into fucking him faster.

"Merlin, come on."

But Merlin seemed to work his fingers slower, dragging them inside Arthur until it hurt and then soothing it away with the tease of a touch to Arthur's prostate. He really did have spectacular fingers.

"You're incredible," Merlin mumbled, one arm wrapped across Arthur's chest and his face smashed up against Arthur's skin. He pulled his lips along Arthur's skin, as if he couldn't bear to pull away from Arthur's skin long enough to talk. They were both hunched over so that Arthur could brace himself on the chair but it wasn't going to work like this.

Not that Arthur was looking too far into the future, considering Merlin was busy twisting three fingers inside of him like he wanted to leave fingerprints there and rubbing his velvet clad cock off on Arthur's arse like it was in his job description.

"Merlin."

"Yeah," Merlin panted. "Yeah, I know. I wish I could wait, fuck Arthur, I wish I could wait to take you home."

"I really wish you wouldn't," Arthur growled. His cock was so hard it ached, he had half a mind to get this going soon—if only to get the stretch to dim his erection a bit. "Merlin—"

"Just, just," but Merlin couldn't finish because he was pulling his fingers out and Arthur was snarling.

"What the fuck!"

The sight that greeted him when he twisted back was beyond his wildest dreams.

Merlin chest was splotchy red in arousal, his pale skin shimmering underneath the light and reflecting Arthur's own golden hum of magic. His hips were just as slender as the rest of him but they were framed by the bright crimson of the velvet trousers he wore. They were pulled down, so that they were teasing the deep indents of his bones but that his cock and balls were tugged up and out.

It was obscene.

Arthur whimpered.

Merlin _blushed_. "Um, do you still..." He nodded down to his dick and Arthur swallowed, considering.

The fact of the matter was that Merlin's dick was something that belonged on a fucking satyr. Well, not _that_ large but it was a good ten inches and just as thick as Arthur's own, which was nothing to laugh about.

Arthur had seen centaur porn with smaller cocks.

"I'm going to need something to lean on," was all Arthur could say.

With some manoeuvring and much giggling, mostly from Merlin, they found enough wrapped present boxes to stack up on the chair so that Merlin could fuck him. The irony that they looked like they were making a cheap porno wasn't beyond Arthur.

Merlin went to take off his trousers and Arthur felt himself blush as he stopped him.

"Just, will you leave them on?" He ground out, positive that the magic in the room was making him insane.

There was a pause before Merlin smirked. "You like it, the velvet. Filthy."

Arthur didn't answer, simply turned away from staring at Merlin's perfect dimples and his massive cock and clutched the perfectly wrapped boxes in front of him. That didn't stop Merlin from speaking.

"You hedonist," Merlin murmured with awe but then he pressed his thighs up against Arthur's, sliding his cock between Arthur's cheeks and Arthur forgot to be offended. "You are seriously the filthiest, poshest, most uptight—"

The head of Merlin's cock found Arthur's hole without even trying.

"Fuckfuck," Arthur breathed out but Merlin didn't stop—possibly couldn't—not with the way the air was screaming with magic and Arthur's hole was clutching at the tip of Merlin's cock like it needed it.

"You gorgeous elf," Merlin moaned out. He was sinking slowly, ever so slowly, into Arthur and it was brilliant. It hurt like hell, fire burning his thighs and racing up to his heart. But the heat of the magic made it less painful and instead, Arthur was just sobbing into his forearm and bucking his arse back up, _presenting himself_ for Merlin's massive dick to plough into.

When Merlin was fully seated, Arthur didn't know if he wanted to cry in relief or beg for more. He felt like he was being split open, all the way through his chest, and it really shouldn't feel this good. However, the leaky cock bouncing against his stomach said otherwise.

His arse, stretched and swollen with Merlin's massive dick, definitely wanted Arthur to beg for more.

Merlin pulled out just slightly and reseated himself with hardly any force, just a lazy twist of his hips.

"Fuck me," Arthur growled out, hazing out with pleasure. "You've got to—fuck, Merlin—you've got to fuck me. I'm _asking you to_."

The next thrust was hard, too painful—too much and Arthur moaned into it. He could hear his fingernails tearing at the bright red and silver wrapping paper and his own moans bordering a bit on screams but it all dimmed in comparison to the stretch and sheer length of Merlin's cock spearing into him. It felt like he was fucking magic up into him and just the thought had Arthur rocking back and making a truly embarrassing keening noise.

"Yes, yes, you need it," he heard Merlin say vaguely, over the snap of his hips. "God, you need me to—fuck you're so good, baby—need me to fuck you full and wet."

Arthur was going to come.

"Gonna take you home, spread you out and have you ride my face. Get come all over my cheeks—fucking hell, I want to and fuck, goddamit," Merlin gasped.

"Ah, ah," Arthur cried out. Merlin had readjusted his grip, one hand curling around Arthur's shoulder to _shove_ him back onto Merlin's cock and the other went to Arthur's cock like a vice.

"I want to eat you out. I'll get velvet sheets and—"

Merlin wasn't making any sense anymore but Arthur wasn't hearing him. He was gasping and bucking into Merlin's beautiful hand, writhing on Merlin's mighty cock and coming with a shout that bordered on a bellow.

Arthur was still riding high, cock sticky in Merlin's hand, when Merlin slammed into him three more times and came. If Arthur had felt like he was fucking the sun with Merlin's mouth, it was nothing like having Merlin coming inside of him. It was so _hot_. Every jerk of Merlin's cock was pounding against Arthur's prostate and he felt—fuck, he felt _flooded_.

He could also hear the sounds of sleigh bells.

Which was insane but also perfect because Merlin was babbling, "You're perfect. God, you're everything. Mine, mine, mine—oh, fuck, Arthur—Arthur!"

To be honest, it was a little like being fucked full of Christmas Spirit.

Magic exploded all around him and Arthur squirmed back onto Merlin's twitching cock as it kept splashing hot come inside of him. He just _kept coming_ , moaning and grinding into Arthur's fucked out hole and panting nonsense into Arthur's shoulder.

"Fucking perfect," Merlin groaned. "JesusfuckChrist, you're unreal, Arthur."

But Arthur could only gasp, feeling the slick wetness of Merlin's cock slipping out of him. He felt the tentative press of Merlin's fingers, as if he was checking for damage, before he dipped his fingertips in the come that was dribbling out of his hole and sliding down his thighs. What was a courtesy check from being fucked by a giant cock was now just Merlin scooping up his come and feeding it back into Arthur's sore hole.

Arthur swatted at him and Merlin laughed, breathless and half a moan. It should have inspired Arthur to punch him in the dick. He was no one's desperate bottom. Instead, the whole experience made Arthur want to sit on Merlin's cock and ride him until New Years.

Apparently, magic sex with Father Christmas made him a come-hungry bottom fiend.

They collapsed onto the ground after a few moments of Merlin _cooing_ like Arthur was a child or a newly devirgined boy. (To be fair, anyone who had to lose their virginity to that monstrosity of a cock would have been in need of a cuddle. And possibly a stiff drink.) Arthur felt sore all over like he was leaking everywhere.

It was disgusting.

"You're unbelievable," Merlin muttered and it was only then that Arthur realised that he had said that out loud.

"I didn't mean you," Arthur groaned, rolling onto his back. "It's just—your cock—"

"Shh, don't talk about it. He'll hear the sound of your voice and want more," Merlin whispered, eyes flashing with mischief and energy and of course, that was just Arthur's luck, Merlin was going to be one of those perky fucks.

"Bloody hell mate, that wasn't enough for him?"

There was a pause before Merlin said, "I doubt I'll ever get enough of you."

Arthur didn't reply to that. He did roll onto his side though, on the pretence of an X-Box controller digging into his arsecheek but the way Merlin grinned at him, he didn't think his excuse worked. They lay there, panting and generally taking in the carnage and absurdity of their situation.

Then Arthur remembered the sleigh bells, the way they rang clear when Merlin was inside of him. He also remembered Emrys and Morgana and his poor, dear, mother and then found it best to think about other things. (Because really, what kind of elf thought about his mother when he had been buggered within an inch of his life by Father Christmas and his giant dick? This was what Leon was talking about when he said that Arthur would make some therapist very, very rich someday.)

Arthur took a deep breath.

And then he took Merlin's hand.

"World peace."

Merlin blinked his eyes opened and turned toward Arthur. There was too much magic strumming over his body for Arthur to care that he'd been staring at Merlin for a few moments, or that he'd just been caught staring. His skin felt so over sensitive that it physically hurt to touch his hand.

"I wanted world peace, when I was little and wrote letters to Santa," Arthur finished, refusing to blush because it was a perfectly valid choice.

The grooves in Merlin's cheeks were too irresistible for Arthur and he found himself dragging his finger over one of those dimples. Merlin just continued to grin.

"You would want world peace."

"Didn't get it, did I?"

Merlin laughed, pulling at Arthur's wrist until he had no choice but to scoot closer. "I can imagine how much that upset you. You're so much of a brat now, I can't imagine how insufferable you were then."

Arthur let Merlin pull him in until they were mashed together. Merlin had a piece of wrapping paper stuck to his chest and there was a fair amount of glitter everywhere from the presents they had demolished while fucking like heathens. In the end, it was hard for Arthur to swallow the reality of his situation, let along _cuddling_.

"What did you ask for next?"

"Hmm?"

Merlin's eyes sparkled and his thumb flicked at Arthur's sore nipple. "When your parents denied you world peace, what did you ask for next?"

"Sleigh bells."

Merlin didn't say anything to that, just kissed Arthur's mouth. When he pulled back, licking his lips and staring at Arthur's mouth, he asked, "Do you like penguins?"

Merlin wasn't a stunning conversationalist. It was alarming.

"Do I like—"

"Penguins, do you like penguins? You know, the little black and white things that waddle around," Merlin said, sounding petulant and nervous and—oh.

"Why?" Because if there was one thing that Arthur was sure about, it was that taking the piss out of Merlin was beyond delightful.

"Fine, if you're going to be a dick, I'm not going to ask you to go pet the penguins with me, you douche of an elf!"

But even when he said it, he was smiling and then Arthur was thinking that maybe a penguin petting zoo wasn't a completely insane idea.

"You want to take me out on a date."

Merlin pinched his side. "I have no idea why. The penguins will hate you."

"Nah," Arthur said, wondering if he should feel embarrassed about the fact that his skin was glowing again, even though his cock wasn't hard. "The penguins will love me."

After Merlin fell asleep for twenty minutes and they ended up sneaking out the back of the dome, much to Gwendolyn's severe mortification, Merlin admitted that the penguins would love Arthur. But when he said it, he was holding Arthur's hand. Arthur might be a bit of a cynical elf, but he was fairly sure that he could have powered the whole world in that moment—on his Christmas Spirit alone.

<3<3<3

And that's the beginning of how they all live Happily Ever After as Mr. and Mr. Claus.

Admittedly, things got a bit insane after Arthur woke up to Leon trying to climb through Father Christmas' window, three reindeer chewing on snow behind him. There was a brief scuffle where Merlin, sleepy with sex and clutching fingers, refused to let go of Arthur's waist and so, horrified, Arthur had to have an entire conversation with his part-time personal assistant, naked and lying next to Santa Claus.

 _"Are you ruining Christmas with your penis?"_ Leon all but screamed when he hit his shin on Merlin's night stand and Arthur almost stabbed him with a candy-cane.

However, after Leon left (but not before he noticed the huge, Christmas-tree shaped love bite on Arthur's neck and the bites all over his shoulders from round two), Arthur thought about leaving as well. He thought about unwinding Merlin's pale, too-long arms, stealing some clothes and leaving to endure the rest of his life living in a world run by someone who was magnificent but whom Arthur deemed as "too risky". He thought about how awkward meetings would be or how word would get around and Morgana would call him all the time and the lingering feelings of loneliness that would well up in the middle of the night. He thought about playing it safe. He thought about what it meant to have achieved all his goals and then be too afraid to dream up more.

Then he thought about Merlin's face, not Father Christmas', and he stayed.

(They even went on that penguin petting walk. Turns out, the penguins fucking hated Arthur Pendragon, as it was his fault that they were abducted from the South Pole and put in a petting zoo in the North Pole. When they snapped their little beaks around Arthur's gloved fingers, it bled and he cursed and it ruined the date. So then there had to be mutual blowjobs in the snowdrifts to make up for it. Which led to hypothermia and Gwaine, Merlin's head of Security leering over their huddling-for-warmth bodies and saying, "Couldn't wait to get some Christmas Spirit in him, could he? Eager and wet for some Daddy Christmas, eh? Gaggin' for some of your candy-cane, Merlin?"

Thankfully, Percy saved them all. The damage was only a small case of frostbite [Merlin's], a broken nose [Gwaine's] and a large amount of dignity [Arthur's].

Best date of Arthur's life.)

Anyway.

Even though Morgana would be smug and spend half her time in the Pole making comments about Christmas crackers in uncomfortable places and workplace sexual harassment, Arthur thought it might be worth it to give it a go. Despite the army of factors that said: _this isn't worth it_ there was still something there... maybe it was something about Merlin.

Or maybe it was the magic of Christmas all year round, just like his mother believed.

The fact of the matter was, it wasn't going to be easy. Arthur was bossy and Merlin had too much magic for anything to be sane. Arthur would spend half the time worrying about developing a fetish for velvet (he did) and his respectable elf image and his father and, and, and—

But.

They were going to be great. Not because of any of Arthur's stupid reasons or his pie charts or his product figures. Not because Merlin could snap his fingers and things would get done or because Leon was raising an army of reindeer to take over the world. No. See, things would be great because when Merlin did wake up from his position drooling on Arthur's shoulder, he looked up and said,

"That first wish, world peace? I want to give that to you. We can do that."

And so they did.


End file.
